


Accidentally Married

by CatWinchester



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Marriage, F/M, Las Vegas Wedding, Marriage of Convenience, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and OC wake up after a drunken night in Las Vegas to find themselves married. The problem is the press already has the story, and an annulment might not be the best answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I’m not entirely sure how far I can go with this so any thoughts or ideas are welcome.

Chapter One

I put my hand to my head, wondering what had awoken me when I clearly wasn’t ready for consciousness.

The knocking came again, more like a pounding really, urgent and persistent, and I knew I would never get back to sleep until I did something to stop it.

As I swung my legs out of bed, someone groaned beside me and I turned to see my bedfellow throw his arm over his eyes.

Tom… I couldn’t remember his last name but maybe once the pounding stopped, I would remember. Despite not being traditionally handsome or buff, I could remember how sexy he was, and how giddy with desire he made me feel and I vividly remember screaming his name quite a few times last night.

Maybe this was our neighbours complaining about our rather vocal love making.

I also recalled how much he’d made me laugh, which given the circumstances, was highly unexpected.

I took two faltering steps towards the door before I realised I was stark naked.

There wasn’t much light, just what little daylight filtered through the not quite drawn curtains, so I picked up the closest item of clothing I saw. It was a shirt of some description and I pulled it on, looking around for something to cover my lower half.

The knocking was distracting me from my task though.

“Coming!” I yelled, hoping that whoever was knocking would cease for a moment, giving me a chance to at least think clearly but the thumping never ceased, so I abandoned my hunt for trousers and went to the door, reasoning that if whoever was out there got an eyeful, it was their own fault.

I yanked the door open, levelling a glare at the man who was knocking.

“What the bloody hell do you want?”

“Where is he?” the man asked. He was quite good looking, smart yet casually dressed, with a slightly preppy look. He was also English, like Tom and I. Perhaps I had somehow stumbled upon an English expat convention.

“Who?” I demanded.

The man looked behind me and evidently seeing his target, he pushed the door wide and stormed in.

“No, please, do come in, it’s not like we were sleeping or anything.”

The stranger ignored my sarcasm and headed to the bed, wrenching Tom’s arm from over his face and glaring at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he demanded.

“It’s too early for this, Luke,” Tom grumbled.

I closed the door and began hunting for my handbag; it didn’t look like I’d be getting back to sleep any time soon and I knew I had some painkillers in there.

“Too early!” the stranger, possibly called Luke, screeched. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Language, Timothy!” I chided. It was a rebuke from a sitcom that my Mum often teased me with when I swore.

Luke ignored me.

I felt like telling him to chill the fuck out, but I really didn’t want his screech to be aimed in my direction (I was pretty sure that he was loud enough to disturb the local bats). I managed to find my pants and bra among the debris on the floor, but the rest of my clothes and my handbag were proving elusive.

Tom sat up and rubbed his eyes as he yawned, and I was once again struck by how handsome he was, even first thing in the morning, while I probably looked as though I'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. Life could be so unfair sometimes.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked. “You’re supposed to be in LA.”

“I caught a flight first thing this morning. What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“What’s got into you?” Tom asked in his cut glass British accent.

I was still staring at him. That accent combined with the dishevelled look, gave his polished manner a rough, slightly dangerous edge, which was sexy as hell. If we could only get Luke out, I was certainly up for a round four… or would it be five?

Realising that if I stared much longer, I’d probably be caught, I turned away.

“What’s got into me?” Luke screeched, “You got married last night, that’s what got into me!”

Married? My heart plummeted for a second, kind of like that sensation you feel on a rollercoaster. Then I remembered that we had nothing to worry about and I smiled, wondering if we had any pictures from the ceremony.

I gave up on the clothes hunt the moment I spotted the coffee machine and I decided that coffee was the way to go, if I could figure the infernal device out. What exactly was wrong with an electric kettle and instant coffee?

“I know,” Tom groused. “I was there, oddly enough.”

“It’s all over the fucking internet this morning and every major entertainment site is running the story!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Tom argued. “It’s not a real wedding.”

“Oh really?” Luke stepped away from the bed and took his phone out.

The coffee maker began to gurgle and seconds later, spewed a trickle of something brown into the mug below. Success!

In my experience, you have to celebrate the small victories in life.

“Because this looks like a marriage licence to me!” Luke was still yelling and I looked over to see him thrusting his phone into Tom’s face. All this shouting couldn’t be good for Luke’s blood pressure.

“We got married in Vegas, it doesn’t count,” Tom said

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Luke demanded.

“Mac and I are British, it doesn’t count.” Tom said slowly, enunciating each word as if Luke were slow witted.

Luke seemed stunned for a moment and actually took a step back.

“That’s a myth,” he said softly. Why couldn’t he use that voice all the time? “A marriage in Las Vegas is legal everywhere.”

I set a second cup of coffee to brew for Tom, then added sugar to my cup, wondering where they had hidden the milk.

“So we’re really married?” Tom asked, his voice losing the gravelly, I­-just­-woke­-up component and becoming higher pitched.

“Yes,” Luke replied.

“As in, legally married?”

“Yes!”

“Even in England?”

“YES! Now do you see why this is such a big deal?”

My heart stopped for a second. We were really married? Fuck!

My thoughts whirled a mile a minute as the consequences of our actions began to seep in, and I leaned against the coffee machine, feeling slightly light-headed and weak in the knees. Then it occurred to me that we could have it annulled.

I forced myself to take a few deep breaths and calm down. An annulment would be a hassle but it was hardly a tragedy. Everything was going to be fine. No, really, it was.

“Fuck!” Tom cursed, then buried his head in his hands.

I found some milk in the mini­bar fridge but needing the caffeine more than the milk, I only added a splash to my coffee. I still really needed those pain pills.

“What do we do?” Tom asked.

Luke sighed as I carefully sipped my coffee. It was almost too hot to drink but I was desperate to feel human again.

“America is a very conservative market, Tom, if you don’t want to sabotage I Saw the Light’s Oscar chances, there is only one thing you can do. You have to stay married, make this seem like the real deal.”

I looked over and as I came to a startling realisation, the cup fell from my hands but I didn’t even notice until I felt the burning on my legs.

So this is why people wear trousers.

“Fuck!” I cried, not at all sure what I was swearing about, the fact that I had just realised I’d married Tom Hiddleston, or the fact my shins and feet were burned.

I quickly decided that the burning was more important and letting out a string of profanity, I hobbled into the bathroom, sat on the edge of the bath and swung my legs into the tub. The shower attachment proved too tricky to operate in my pitiful state and I settled for using the taps and splashing the water on my legs.

Tom entered a few moments later, the delay explained by the underpants he was now wearing (thank God! I did not need that added distraction).

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“You told me you were an accountant!” I hissed, still splashing water on my legs.

“I didn’t want things to get weird,” he answered.

“So you lied to me? You also told me the marriage wasn’t legal.”

“I didn’t think it was,” he defended himself.

To be fair, I could have asked someone at the church, or done a google search, or anything really, other than take his word for it, but I wasn’t ready to be reasonable and rational yet.

“I knew I recognised you, and you lied and said you just had one of those faces.” I slumped, not even bothering to continue splashing water on my legs, it wasn’t really helping anyway. Now everyone would know that I’d been completely stupid and married a total stranger in Las Vegas. It was fun while I thought it wasn’t legally binding and that no one would ever find out, but who didn’t know who Tom Hiddleston was?

Okay, I hadn’t recognised him with blonde curly hair, but I still knew who he was.

And now, all my friends, my co­workers, my neighbours, they would all know what an idiot I had been.

Tears began to sting my eyes and Tom came up and perched on the edge of the bath, next to me, but facing the other way.

“Here,” he said, reaching over and fiddling with the taps until he got cold water to spring from the shower head, which he reached up and plucked from its holder so he could better aim it at my legs. “Thanks,” I sniffled, taking it from him.

“Do you need to go to hospital?”

I shook my head. It stung but the burns weren’t bad, certainly not hospital­-treatment-­bad. Five minutes in cold water and I would probably be fine.

I actually smiled for a millisecond as I thought how my Mum would have laughed at my predicament.

 _‘At least you can say you married a movie star,’_ she’d have said. _‘You don’t need to mention that it only lasted 24 hours.’_

I leaned forward, letting my hair form a curtain between Tom and me, trying to hide my tears.

“Hey,” he leaned towards me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Why did he have to notice? Why couldn’t he leave me to come to terms with my humiliation in peace?

“Fine,” I managed to say, managing to sound like a deep breathing crank caller, rather than an emotional basket case on the brink of turning into a blubbering mess.

“You don’t sound fine.” He really sounded like he cared too.

I shrugged his hand off. “Just find out how we get this annulled, and I will be.”

“All right. Take as long as you need, have a shower if you want.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t get up and leave.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital?”

“I’m sure.”

He remained seated beside me until the bathroom door swung open and, I assumed, Luke stood there, probably glaring daggers at both of us.

“Take your time,” Tom repeated, awkwardly patting my shoulder.

It was a far cry from last night, when we had made love. Despite being very drunk, I remembered everything. Some things were fuzzy, but I still remembered it.

It had felt like we’d known each other all our lives, we were that comfortable with each other even after only having spent a few hours together. And the sex, that had been mind blowing! How did I go from abject misery, to giddy, then back to misery in less than 24 hours?

Tom closed the door after him and I continued to douse my legs, even although they already felt better.

“Who is she?” I heard Luke demand.

“Her name is Mac, Mackenzie Hall, she works for a publishing house.”

“And whose idea was the wedding?”

“I suggested it,” I heard Tom say, but he sounded tired.

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Because you’re you and she’s nobody. This will be great exposure for her but this could be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made! I just find it hard to believe that not only are you that stupid, it was actually your suggestion!”

“Luke-­”

“I don’t get it, what was wrong with one night stands? Never warming the same bed for more than a few weeks?”

“That was just a reaction to-­”

“Cat, yeah, I know she broke your heart and stomped on the pieces, but casual relationships worked for you, it kept your name out of the papers! Now you’re marrying people on the first date? Had you two even slept together before hand?”

“Not people, Luke, just­-”

“Just one person, because that makes it all right, I suppose.”

“Look, I know you’re pissed but it’s happened, so unless you have a time machine, let’s move on, okay?”

“She could be a journalist for all you know!”

“She isn’t a journalist.”

“How can you know that? You just happened to meet her on your stay here? You only met her yesterday, how well can you know her!”

“I met her while she was scattering her mother’s ashes, Luke! She was bawling her eyes out, I couldn’t just leave her there to cry alone!”

“Sounds like a perfect cover story to me.”

I’d heard enough and decided that a shower would be a very good idea. I could only have the water tepid or it hurt the burns but at least under the water, I couldn’t hear anything that was being said. I had a little cry; I didn’t bawl but I shed a few tears.

Mum just had this way about her and it didn’t matter how bad things were, she could always make me laugh. Still, missing her wasn’t going to help me get through this, so I forced my emotions down.

A lukewarm shower isn’t exactly enjoyable though, so I washed as quickly as I could, then turned the water off and reached for a towel, gently patting my legs dry so as to not irritate the burns. They would be fine, I decided as I climbed out, just uncomfortable for a day or two.

And I never did get my bloody coffee, or my painkillers. No wonder I felt so emotional.

I opened a complimentary toothbrush to clean my teeth, then I towel dried my hair and brushed it out with Tom’s hair brush.

That’s when I really noticed the rings on my left hand for the first time. I didn’t just have a cheap gold band, I had a set. The engagement ring (was it still called that if you hadn’t been engaged first?) had a square cut diamond, I had no idea about its size and the memories of choosing it were hazy, but it was very pretty and set into a platinum band. The wedding band was also platinum and made to rest under the diamond setting, ‘so there is no unsightly gap between the rings’ I remembered the salesperson saying.

He and I obviously had very different ideas of what 'unsightly' meant, but I couldn’t deny that the set was beautiful. But it was best not to get too attached, I’d be giving them back soon.

I turned my attention to my reflection in the mirror and wondered what on earth could have caught the eye of a man like Tom. I was nothing special. My ash blonde hair was the envy of my peers but I had always thought that dark hair framed a face much better than blonde. I had blue eyes but they were very pale and combined with my hair, they made me look washed out. On Halloween I usually wore very dark eyeliner, then my light eyes looked almost evil.

My gazed travelled down to my figure. I was tall, I had that going for me, but my figure was far too rounded to be fashionable. I was a UK size 16, maybe an 18 after Christmas, and I was totally fine with that. I knew I chose clothes that made me look good and more importantly, I was fit. I played tennis in the summer, went to the gym in the winter and tried to do two 5K charity runs a year, mostly to motivate me to stay fit though, not from any desire to raise money. Besides, it wasn’t like my friends and colleagues could ever sponsor me a fortune. I was lucky to raise £500 but of course, I couldn’t let a charity down once I had secured that sponsorship, so it forced me out of the house on cold evenings, when I’d much rather have curled up with a glass of wine and a good book.

But being happy with myself didn’t mean that anyone else would be happy with me. In fact, I was fairly sure that I’d be torn to shreds if people ever found a picture of me.

‘ _Tom Hiddleston married her? He must have been blackout drunk_!’

Maybe he had been.

I’d had enough of examining my figure and finding myself wanting, so I looked around for the shirt I’d abandoned and spotted bathrobes on the back of the door. I snaffled one and wrapped it around myself, then pressed my ear to the door.

I couldn’t hear any voices so I assumed Luke was gone and when I ventured out, I was proved right.

Tom had dressed and was wearing jeans and a blue t­-shirt.

“Feel better?” he asked, with a small but warm smile.

“Yeah, thanks.” I just felt incredibly uncomfortable.

“Coffee?” he asked. “I would offer you tea but I speak from experience when I say, it’s awful in this country.”

“Coffee’s fine.” I looked around for my handbag and with the curtains open, I was able to spot it on a chair by the desk. I popped two ibuprofen out and waved the pill tray at Tom, who shook his head so I put them away and joined him by the coffee maker.

“How are your burns?” he asked.

“They’re fine, honestly. Sorry about the stain,” I gestured to the huge spill.

“The hotel will clean the carpets, I’ve already told reception so they know to bring the machine when they make up the room.”

I nodded and accepted the cup he’d already prepared for me, with two sugars, just the way I like it. I used it to down some pills and wandered away from Tom, over to the window. Ideally I’d like to forget all this happened but I knew I’d have to face the music eventually.

“We need to talk,” Tom said softly.

“I know,” I sighed. “I was just having fun pretending that we hadn’t been total idiots.”

He laughed softly and I found the courage to turn around.

“So, how do we annul it?” I asked.

“Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk,” he said, gesturing to the couches. I nodded and padded over there, my feet sinking slightly into the luxurious cream carpet with each step.

This was easily the largest and the nicest hotel room I had ever been in, decorated in muted shades of brown and reds, and not at all tacky as you might expect a Vegas hotel to be. The furniture all appeared to be made from solid wood, rather than flat-­packed chipboard or MDF. The couches were as plump and comfortable as everything else in here and I was almost afraid to keep drinking my coffee unless I spilled it again, so I quickly finished it and placed the mug on the end table.

Tom sat in the armchair adjacent to mine and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Something in his demeanour told me this wasn’t going to be an easy talk.

“I have a proposition for you,” he began, looking at me with those absurdly attractive puppy dog eyes of his; the eyes that had got me into this mess in the first place.

“Okay.”

“You said yesterday that it’s your dream to write a novel, right?”

I nodded, wondering where this had come from. We’d talked for hours yesterday, after Tom found me sitting on a rock and crying in Red Rock Canyon, just outside the city, and he held me until my tears finally stopped.

He’d been there to hike and was wearing a baseball cap to keep the sun off and dark glasses. It had never occurred to me that he was a film star, especially when I heard his British accent. Film stars came from America, not the UK (I should know, I’ve lived in the UK most of my life and never met a single film star).

Once my tears had dried, he began asking questions and I explained that my father had been American and that his ashes were scattered here. He had been born in Las Vegas and he used to hike there all the time as a child. He said that he wanted to be scattered somewhere pretty, so Mum had chosen this hiking trail. I was too young to remember any of that, he’d had a car accident when I was three years old, hit and run, so I remembered nothing of him or my life in America.

We were living on the East Coast then, a long way from his family and my mum had never bothered to get her green card because she planned to stay home to look after me until I went to school. That meant that she was unable to work and with no family living close, she opted to return to the UK and to her family. When she died, she’d asked me to scatter her ashes in the same place, so she could be with my Dad. Tom had found me just after I’d done it. I kept telling him to get on with his hike but he refused to leave me and he walked the rest of the trail with me, back to the picnic area and car park. He then insisted I share his lunch with him, which he’d left in a cool box in his rental car.

He reminded me a lot of my mum in some ways, able to find humour in almost anything. He asked more about my mum and me, but his questions never became intrusive and I felt quite happy opening up to him. He also had a strong sense of sarcasm, which I enjoyed. I love Americans, but they’re just so friggin’ nice all the time! I mean, can’t they just be a little passive aggressive, sarcastic and bad tempered sometimes?

Seriously, I have been told to ‘have a nice day’ more times in the last three days, than in the previous 31 years of my life. That’s not normal!

Anyway, Tom understood what I meant when I complained about how friendly everyone was and more importantly, he understood why it was weird to me, even although he confessed he was used to it now.

He had a kind of infectious enthusiasm that really resonated with me and when he asked if he could take me to dinner that evening, of course I said yes.

My hotel was on the outskirts of the city, on the south side so by the time I got back there, I realised I only had two hours before I had to leave and meet Tom. He’d tried to insist on picking me up but I wouldn’t hear of it. I met him at a steakhouse he suggested, having caught a cab so I could have a drink, and it was over the meal that I’d told Tom my dream of finding the time to write. Unfortunately between my job and the commute, it doesn’t leave much time for hobbies, like writing.

“I have a film that’s expected to be nominated for an Oscar,” Tom continued, bringing me back to our current conversation. “But Luke, he’s my Public Relations guy, he thinks that a marriage and divorce or annulment would send the wrong message and possibly stop the movie getting the votes it needs.”

“But I thought he said people already knew. He showed you a picture of our marriage licence, didn’t he?”

“They do know. AMZ broke the story not half an hour after we left the chapel.”

So if he wasn’t asking for my secrecy, what was he asking for?

“I’d like you to stay married to me for a year.”

“What!” I shot up out of my seat as if I had a rocket up my arse. “You can't be serious!”

Tom swallowed but I could see from the way he met my eye that he was serious.

“Just hear me out, Mac, please.”

He gestured for me to sit again and I did, with reluctance.

“If you spend a year married to me, you can leave your job and have time to write the novel you’ve always wanted to, and I’ll give you a very generous allowance.”

“I don’t want your money!”

“And I’m not trying to buy you,” he assured me. “But we can both get something from this, you get time to write, I get to save my reputation.”

“And what about at the end of the year when I need to get a new job? It’s so much harder if you haven’t been in work continuously.”

“I’ll help you find new work if you want, the best recruitment agencies in the UK, and when we get divorced I’ll leave you with a very generous settlement.”

He didn’t know how tempting his offer was. Not only having the time to write, but being able to tell my friends that this wasn’t just an impulsive, drunken decision.

“Would I have to lie?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “We’ll stick close to the truth but say we’ve been seeing each other secretly. It happens all the time, no one will question it.”

“They might, because I had a boyfriend until a few months ago.”

“Okay, a very short relationship then, but we can still make this work.”

I had my doubts.

“Would I have to live with you?”

“Yes, but I’ll be away filming sometimes, so you’d have the house to yourself a lot.”

“Where do you even live?”

“London.”

I thought how living in London would make my commute easier, then I remembered that I might be giving work up, at least for a year.

“Look,” he reached out and took my hand. “There are no rules to this arrangement, other than the ones we want to make. I have the resources at my disposal to make a lot of different dreams come true, so just tell me what you need to make this happen.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. The only thing I really wanted right now, to have my mum back, no amount of money could accomplish. “I don’t like lying.”

“That I’m afraid, can't be avoided.”

“What else would you need from me?” I asked.

“In what way?”

“Well you want to stay married, so I assume you want me to act like a wife… publicly, I mean.”

“Yes,” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he thought about it, his hand reaching back to play with the curls at the back of his head. “Well I’d like you to attend premiers and other public events, the awards season will be the most hectic, assuming this works and I’m still nominated. I suppose there might be the odd interview, but we’ll limit it to print publications where we have copy approval, and only people that Luke trusts.”

“Luke hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just worried about me.”

Really? Because of the two of us, I certainly felt like the more vulnerable one.

“Okay, so red carpets and interviews,” I summarised. “What else?”

“I don’t know, I guess the usual things.”

Did he mean sex? Something in my expression must have shown as he frantically began back-pedalling.

“No, no, no, I mean dinners out, going to the cinema, shopping trips but, you know, acting like a couple in love while we do it.”

All right, I had been a little shocked at the idea of sex being an expected part of our agreement but now, I was a little put out that he didn’t want me in that way. I guess I really had been just a one night stand to him. And I wasn’t surprised, like I said, I am no beauty.

I’d known last night that this wasn’t going to become a relationship, it was just a brief union of two people, each suffering in their own ways and helping to ease each other’s pain for a night, maybe two. I never expected the idea of a relationship to enter the conversation, much less that both of us would decide that getting married was a good idea. Although, of course, we hadn’t realised it would be legal.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, and I realised I’d been silent for a fairly long while.

I couldn’t say, ‘ _That I wish you were attracted to me,_ ’ that sounded desperate and pathetic, so I didn’t reply.

“I’m not saying we have to make out in public,” he continued, perhaps fearing that I was averse to acting like a couple. If anything, keeping my hands off him was going to be my problem. “Just touch, hold hands, share small kisses, and last night is proof that we have amazing chemistry, right? And I’m not totally awful to look at, am I? You could kiss me on the cheek sometimes, without retching afterwards, couldn’t you?”

As if he was the unattractive one in our pairing. I found myself smiling at his teasing.

“It’ll be tough but I expect I’ll find a way to cope,” I played along, falling into the easy camaraderie we had shared last night. I was rewarded with a huge grin, the sort that had got me into this mess in the first place.

“I know this isn’t the wedding of your dreams, Mac,” he said, growing serious. “And I totally understand your reticence but this could be good for both of us.”

I took a deep breath. “Look, I think the realities of being married, or pretending to be, whatever, will probably come as a shock to both of us and in all honesty, I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold up my end of the bargain.”

His face fell and I rushed on, for some reason hating to be the cause of any unhappiness.

“But, I will promise to give this… arrangement my best shot.”

“Really?” The hesitant smile on his lips made me sure I was doing the right thing.

I shrugged, as if giving up my job, my home and my friends was no big deal. “This last year has sucked, big time. Maybe this is what I need to draw a line under things and move on to a new phase.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you.” He grinned. “You won’t regret this.”

I stamped down on that knot of disquiet in the pit of my stomach, the one that told me I was making a huge mistake, and plastered a smile on my face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Tom arranged for my things to be brought over from my hotel. I had a feeling this was actually Luke’s doing but that Tom feared I’d refuse if I knew Luke would be going through my things, and I would have.

Ignorance is bliss however, so I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell.

Tom arranged for us to be upgraded to a suite since we were on our ‘honeymoon’ and my bags were waiting in the new room when we got there. I didn’t bother to dress in last night’s clothes for the move but remained in my bathrobe. Hey, if you’re going to do the walk of shame, might as well go all out, right?

I got a few odd looks as we moved, especially from one couple in the lift, but Tom was having trouble suppressing his grin, which made me want to giggle and as soon as the other couple got out, we burst out laughing, like a couple of school kids.

“You realise if they talk to the press, they’re going to twist this into me keeping you barefoot and pregnant,” Tom teased, which made us both laugh harder.

We had decided to spend the next few days in the hotel room mostly, to sell the story that we were madly in love newlyweds. In reality, it was so we could both get used to each other and our new living situation.

We played cards while we questioned each other, taking it in turns to ask a question, the topics ranging from the important to know, such as family, to the kind of trivia loved ones might know, like preferred subjects in school, to the totally trivial, such as favourite ice cream flavours.

I was a little disconcerted to learn that Tom had two sisters and two living parents, meeting them was not going to be fun, but that could wait.

I learned that Tom has just finished filming a King Kong film but he had a movie premiering in LA 6 days later, so he had opted to come to Las Vegas (it’s one of those places you have to see at least once, he said) rather than fly home then come back. Two 14 hour flights in 6 days wasn’t fun, I agreed, I was only here for 7 days and I really thought it wasn’t worth the hassle for one week. The only reason I had come anyway, was because this wasn’t really a holiday.

I called my work on the second day and told them I would be resigning. Human Resources were very business­like about it and I emailed my resignation letter later that day. I had used up all my holiday but I still had some sick days, so they were going to see if they could get me out of working my two weeks’ notice. If not, Tom would be attending his premier alone.

Ever hopeful though, Tom arranged with the concierge for a number of local shops to send dresses in my size for me to try on. It was kind of fun, playing dress up, and luckily none of the dresses had any prices on, so I couldn’t freak out about the cost.

I had settled on a simple black gown but Tom insisted that I take another two that I was unsure about, but he loved. He assured me that there would be a lot of premiers and special occasions, so they wouldn’t go to waste.

“This might all be for nothing,” I warned, stripping down to my underwear to try on the last dress.

I felt a little shy about sharing a bed with Tom at night but I had no problem with him seeing me in my underwear, I wasn’t naked and he’d seen a lot more than that the other night. I just wished I knew what the rules were on still sleeping together in this new pseud-o­marriage.

“Do you think they’ll make you work out your notice?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been a terrible employee for the past year anyway.”

“Was your mum sick for long?”

“About eight months, although she was okay in the beginning. She knew she didn’t want chemo, she’d seen her Mum go through that and knew it would kill her quality of life.”

I picked up a red dress that was probably gorgeous but my vision was blurring. I furiously blinked my tears them back so Tom wouldn’t see.

“Anyway, I had to go part time when she really started to get sick, and my aunt and I took it in turns to care for her, then I used up my holiday days and they gave me two weeks leave after she… I’ve only been back there full time for about two months, so they’ll probably be happy to see the back of me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

It wasn’t true, they had been very good to me but equally, I had been a terrible employee.

“I haven’t even worked enough days to have earned this week off,” I argued. “But how do you say no to someone taking time off to scatter a parent’s ashes? God knows what they think now they know we got married, they might even think I made it up. They already gave me time off for Mum’s memorial service.”

“Why did you wait so long to come out here?”

I shrugged and wriggled into the dress, tears damped down for the time being.

“I wasn’t strong enough to come right after, too weepy and honestly, I didn’t want a vacation. Work kept my mind off things, and I knew if I came too soon, I'd just spend the week holed up in my hotel room crying. I hoped that I’d have time to go and see a few of the places that my dad liked when he lived here.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like his home. His family have all moved out of state but I have the address where he grew up, and the name of his high school.”

“Have you been yet?” he asked, coming up behind me to help with the zip. He didn’t even need asking, he just seemed to know when I needed help.

“No, not yet.”

“I could go with you, if you’d like me to.”

“Thanks.” I turned to him and smiled as I made a few adjustments to the dress. “But that’s kind of a downer, I wouldn’t want to subject anyone else to it.”

I walked over to the mirror and gasped.

“What?” He appeared over my shoulder, concern etched onto his features.

“I look so much like my Mum,” I whispered, starting to choke up. “One of my earliest memories is of dancing with Mum at a party when I was a kid, my Aunt’s wedding anniversary, I think. I was five and she wore a dress just this shade. There was a picture of us, both in our red dresses, hanging in the hallway my entire life. I always thought we looked nothing alike, I had her colouring and my dad’s features, but in this dress…”

I was going to cry and from somewhere, Tom produced a tissue and handed it to me.

“Believe it or not, that’s a happy memory,” I smiled as I dabbed at my eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with emotion, love. Honestly, I don’t mind the tears.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that now but in divorce court it’ll be all­” I put on a silly voice, “‘ _she was hysterical, your honour, couldn’t go a single day without crying_ ’.”

He laughed, as did I, which helped to break the tension.

“So, are you keeping the dress?” he asked.

I looked in the mirror again and I admit, I was tempted. “Honestly, I think three is enough.”

“One more won’t hurt, and you do look amazing in it.”

“If you keep spoiling me like this, you going to make it very hard to go back to being an average Joe when we get divorced.” I teased.

“Then enjoy it while you can,” he smiled at me.

I turned my back to him and he reached for the zip, but he pulled it down very slowly, almost sensually.

Last night, sharing a bed, had been rather awkward. Tom had offered to take the couch but the bed was huge and we were adults. I can't speak for Tom, but I know I laid awake for a long time, wondering if I should reach out and initiate something.

Tom peeled the dress off my shoulder and bowed his head, pressing a miss to it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing another kiss, a little closer to my neck.

I was more than tempted but I recognised how dangerous this could be. Right now we had a business arrangement, a mutually beneficial agreement and adding sex into the mix could cause any number of problems.

“Tom,” I said softly, intending to try and explain my feelings, mixed though they were, but I didn’t have to. Something in my tone of voice must have given my hesitance away and he immediately backed away.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” By the time I turned around, he had left the room.

That small exchange put something of a downer on our mood so it seemed fitting when my least favourite person, Luke, showed up half an hour later.

“I have the contracts,” he said, striding into the main room of the suite.

“Contracts?” I asked Tom rather than Luke.

“A pre-­nup and NDA,” Luke answered before Tom could, setting his papers out on the dining table.

“Non­disclosure agreement,” Tom explained when he saw my confused look.

I made my way over to the table and sat down on one of the high backed chairs.

“This is the NDA,” Luke said, picking up a contract. “It says you can't talk about Tom’s work, your wedding or private life, without prior consent from us first.”

I supposed I could see the logic in that.

“Sign each page at the bottom,” he said leafing through the contracts and putting an X next to each place I had to sign before handing them to me.

I picked up a copy and began to read.

“I told you what’s in there, just sign it,” he grumbled.

I looked up from the papers and glared at him. “I’m not signing my name to any legal document that I haven’t read first.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before signing the wedding licence.” Luke retorted.

“Let’s just say, I’ve learned my lesson.” I returned his glare.

There were only three pages and it did say pretty much what Luke had, albeit with a lot more specifics, but I was happy to sign.

Tom was hovering close by, I like to think that it was for Luke’s protection from me, rather than the other way around, but probably not.

“Now the pre­-nup,” Luke said once I had signed all three copies of the NDA.

“I think you mean, post­-nup,” I smiled sweetly at him.

Luke ground his teeth together and handed me a copy. “Should I bother telling you what’s in there?”

“That’s okay, I learned to read at a very young age.” My job was actually as a copy-editor, so you could say that reading was my profession.

“Tom? What’s this?” I pointed to a paragraph.

He came and read over my shoulder.

“Your, uh, I’m not sure what to call it, monthly allowance? Pin money?”

“Tom, that’s way too much.”

“But as you said, you might have trouble getting a job afterwards, so think of this as compensation.”

“It’s still too much.” I read on a little. “And this says you’ll be buying my clothing!”

“Only for special occasions, love.”

“But why pay me so much and buy my wardrobe?”

“Better too much than too little.”

“Is it? I don’t know, what is the going rate for a fake wife?” the word wife struck me as very strange, it was the first time I’d said it sober. “And like I said earlier, you’re just making it harder for me to go back to my own life once this is over.”

“Luke, can you give us a minute?” Tom asked.

“Sure.” Luke was surprisingly eager to leave. “If you want to alter anything, cross it out, change it, then you both have to initial and date the changes.”

Clearly he thought I was going to talk Tom into lessening the amounts, and I was, but out of spite I considered just signing them now, in front of Luke, to show him how much I disliked his treatment of me.

Sadly, I’m not that petty.

Luke collected two copies of the NDA and left all three of the post­-nuptial agreement, then Tom came and sat next to me.

“I gave this a lot of thought, Mac. You’re right, I’m asking a lot of you, to give up your home and your job, plus there’ll be a lot of travelling at times, so I think this is fair compensation for all that disruption.”

“But getting time to write is my compensation,” I argued.

“I think you deserve more than that.”

After another fifteen minutes of arguing, he agreed to reduce the monthly amount by a thousand but no more. He was completely immovable on that fact.

The rest of the document was mostly about what he would pay for, which included giving me a credit card paid for by him, in addition to the monthly allowance, to be used for ‘expenses’.

The settlement figure in the case of divorce after 12 months, was also huge. More money that I was likely to make in a few decades.

“I’ll make ten times that in the next year alone,” he tried to reason with me, acting as if I was the one who was being unreasonable.

“You can't buy my loyalty, Tom. I said I would try my best to do this and I will. How much money I get out of it is irrelevant to how well this works!”

“I’m not trying to buy you,” he sighed. “To me, this is actually very fair. If this were a genuine marriage, you could probably expect five times that amount, half my earnings for the time we’re married.”

“But­”

He placed a finger over my lips and I instantly quieted at his touch. How could one touch affect me so? I wasn’t some star struck teenager, no matter how much I might feel like one in his presence.

As he removed the finger, I was very tempted to playfully bite it, but now wasn’t the time for that. He took both my hands in his and angled me more towards him, rubbing the back of my hands with his thumbs as he stared into my eyes. It was both erotic and slightly hypnotic.

“Darling, please, I’m trying to be fair here, without offending you. You are doing me a huge favour, giving up a year of your life to help me and if you don’t let me adequately compensate you, I will feel awful about this, so really it’s selfish on my part.”

I could hardly think straight with him giving me this intense, one on one attention. No wonder he was such a damn fine actor, he pretty much had me mesmerised.

“So please, I’m begging you, sign this, as is, no more amendments, for me, and if you don’t want that money, give it away.”

His thumbs were still stroking over my hand, soothing me, almost hypnotic in their steady movements.

“Okay.”

Some part of my brain was vaguely aware that if he kept this up every time he wanted his own way, I was doomed, but right now, he was awakening other thoughts, far sexier ones.

Before I could get any more turned on, I turned away and picked up a pen.

“Thank you.” He smiled as I signed.

***

I was incredibly excited for the premier of Tom’s movie, I Saw the Light, and as we stepped out onto the red carpet I felt like a movie star. Everyone was screaming and there were so many flashbulbs going off, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see properly again.

We had a security guard with us and Luke, ugh, who had briefed me on what to expect and what to do. I think his exact words were ‘Don’t speak to the press, don’t say anything, smile, look pretty, kiss Tom when he wants to and don’t fuck this up.’ Yep, he’s is a charmer, all right.

Tom paused to sign a few things with the fans who were waiting behind the barriers, and Luke grabbed my arm to haul me away from Tom.

“Hey!”

“I don’t want you talking to anyone,” Luke reminded me.

I smiled sweetly at him, and yanked my arm out of his grip. I didn’t go and rejoin Tom though. He could only spare a few minutes then Luke ushered him on, although it looked like Tom would have preferred to stay and sign more things.

God­-Complex­-Luke knew better though, and ushered us further down the carpet, to the press.

“Don’t say anything,” he whispered in my ear.

“If you say that one more time, I’m going to punch you out, right here, in the middle of the red carpet, but the good news is, I’ll be so happy to do so, I won’t stop smiling for a week.” I grinned maniacally as I spoke and Luke actually looked a little disquieted, although he covered it well.

“Mac?”

Tom put his arm around my waist to get my attention and I had a genuine smile for him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

“I know this is going to be tedious for you, you can go ahead and wait inside if you want.”

“Luke wants me here, I’m okay here.”

“You’re sure?”

Considering that he was paying me an obscene amount of money to play his wife, he was being incredibly generous.

“I’m sure.” I leaned forward and kissed him softly.

As fake as this whole marriage thing is, we do have great chemistry.

Tom gave me a proud smile and began the press line. I waited with the security guard this time while Luke ushered Tom to and from each reporter, I guess he didn’t expect the press to try and molest his client, although it’s not like we were ever more than five paces away should Tom need security.

I could hear almost everything Tom was saying and he was handling this whole cover story with aplomb.

“So I understand congratulations are in order?” one blonde interviewer began.

“Indeed,” he looked over to me, “There she is.”

“So there’s been a lot of speculation that this wedding was a drunken mistake.”

“Do we look unhappy about it?” Tom asked with a cheeky grin. “Honestly, without the alcohol we probably wouldn’t have done it, but we’ve been talking about it almost since the day we met and how to keep it private. Suddenly we realised, we’re in Vegas, what better way to keep it private than spur of the moment.”

“So you didn’t go to Las Vegas to get married then.”

Tom sobered. “No. Mackenzie’s mother passed a few months ago and she wanted her ashes scattered where her husband’s were, in the mountains around Las Vegas. In some strange way, it was almost like her parents were at the wedding with us, as if they had blessed the union. I can't really explain it.”

The man was a damn fine actor, I’d give him that. I’d of course, agreed to the details of my Mum being used, all my friends and family knew that’s why I went to the states, so I could hardly lie about it, even if I’d wanted to.

“So there’s no annulment in your future?”

“Oh no, we’re still very much in the honeymoon phase. I had to be dragged, kicking and screaming from the hotel room.”

I smirked at that. He really did have to be, too. I’m discovering that Tom has this habit of being late for things. It’s nothing bad, he’s just a perfectionist and wants to make sure everything perfect, accounted for and nothing’s been overlooked, which leads to Luke all but manhandling him various places, as if Tom was a child or something.

Tom didn’t seem to mind however, so I wasn’t about to say anything.

I am always ready on time. Usually early. It’s almost a pathological thing so if Luke wasn’t the one hurrying Tom along, I would have to be and all things considered, I’d much rather Luke was the bad guy.

That interview was repeated along the whole length of the red carpet, with a few variations. Some outlets wanted to talk more about the movie than the wedding, but everyone asked him something about it or me.

“So, how did you two meet?”

“While I was on a run in London. Mac’s mother had died a few days before and I found her crying, I had to comfort her. The rest is history.

“Will there be a ceremony back in the UK for your friends and family?”

“Maybe, we hope so, but there’s a lot to work out.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a writer.”

I loved hearing him call me that, it made me believe that I actually could be a real writer, rather than someone who just tinkers about with it.

“And is she changing her name?”

“She’ll publish under her maiden name,” Tom explained. “She doesn’t want anyone to say she’s trying to cash in on my fame.”

“Isn’t it rather quick? You’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

“Months,” Tom would correct, trying to make it seem like ages without actually lying too much. “But when it’s the right person, you just know it’s right.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about your new love?”

“You know how crazy the celebrity life can get, I wanted to shield her from that for as long as possible, but I had no idea the wedding would become public knowledge so quickly.”

I made a mental note to never argue with this man, he was such a smooth talking charmer that I would never win, so I would have to come up with new strategies.

Finally we got to the end of the press line and we had to pose for more pictures.

“Are you alright?” he whispered in my ear while the photographers snapped away.

“I’m great,” I assured him. “This is fun.”

“You say that now, we’ll see if you feel the same in six months.”

We kissed, chastely I might add, but it felt very natural to me, so I just had to hope it looked natural.

Tom had talked me into wearing the midnight blue dress he liked, over the black one I preferred, and he’d bought a tie to match. He looked very handsome and dapper and when added to his charm, I almost wished this wedding was real. Had I been his actual wife, he would have gotten very lucky later tonight.

We’d had the sex talk soon after signing the pre-­post­-nuptial agreement, and I had vetoed the idea.

You might think I’m crazy, right now I feel crazy for saying ‘no sex’ but the thing is, I know me. As much as I’d like to be a one night stand kind of girl, taking her pleasure where it comes, I wasn’t built like that. Sex makes me care about someone, not love them, but care a lot more than I should after a one night stand. I could only imagine that the more I slept with someone, the more I would care, especially when that someone wasn’t hard to love to start with.

I still didn’t know why I’d agreed to sleep with Tom in the first place, it wasn’t like I expected us to last, or thought the marriage was real. The alcohol played a part, I’m sure, but it’s more than that. I have been drunk many times since my first and (until Tom) last one night stand, and I had never repeated that mistake.

I guess I was lonely, and he chased that loneliness away for a while. The thing is, when I’m with Tom, just he and I, he makes me feel like I’m the only woman on the planet, and it’s a very heady feeling.

I could very easily fall in love with him. I already cared more than I should, but I couldn’t afford to lose my heart. This was a business transaction, nothing more, and I had to remember that.

Tom had looked disappointed but he had accepted my decision without hesitation.

He really is a good man.

Had we met under different circumstances we might have­

No, no good would come of thinking about what might have happened. We’d both made a monumental mistake on our first day of knowing each other, and there was no going back to undo that.

Besides, I’d gathered from Luke and the internet, that Tom was something of a player, flitting from one woman to the next, never settling for long, if at all. He wasn’t a commitment kind of guy, at least, not yet. Maybe in 10 years he would be but right now, he was married to his career and didn’t have the time to devote to a relationship.

I had to look forward, to my novel, to my publishing contract, to my future. Tom was not my future, he was just a stepping stone on the way and the sooner I accepted that, the happier I’d be.

The film was fantastic and I could well understand why they had Oscar hopes for it, and I told Tom as much once it was over.

I got asked a lot of questions at the after party but having heard Tom recite the correct replies so many times already this evening, I found it easy to answer them. I also wasn’t drinking much, I’d hate to get drunk and slip up so I’d had one glass of wine when we arrived, and had been on sparkling water ever since, so it looked like I was drinking mixers.

I got a lot of well wishes from various people, which made me feel a little guilty about lying to them, and I got a few cold shoulders; given how charming Tom was, I couldn’t say that was entirely unexpected. If I’d been his friend, I’d probably have a huge crush on him and be upset when he married someone else too.

Oh who was I kidding, I already had a huge crush on him.

That made watching him flirt all evening rather difficult. It’s not that he’s actually chatting people up, as such, it’s just who he is. He’s charming, charismatic and actually makes you think that he cares, and that your answer to his question is the most important thing he has ever listened to, which is basically the perfect way to flirt without being trite or obnoxious about it.

It was probably a good thing that we weren’t really married, because my jealousy would probably rear its ugly head. A lot.

Watching Tom dance was interesting, he was enthusiastic, I’d give him that, but I was a little wary when he came to find me and asked me to dance. Those flailing limbs could be dangerous up close and personal, so to speak, but he taught me some of his moves and his enthusiasm was infectious.

All in all, my first taste of the celebrity life was fantastic and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

It was the next day that reality intruded and brought me back down to earth with a crash.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Fat

That was the most important facet about myself, I discovered, as I read the interviews. I don’t actually think I am fat, or not that fat. UK size 16, which I think is a 12 in America. Okay, that’s a long way from a size zero, but I’m hardly a mountain of flesh. I’ve often read that according to her dress measurements, Marilyn Monroe was a size 16. I’m not sure I believe that, she looks like a 12 to me, so I’d be about 2 sizes bigger, but does being two measly dress sizes larger than the greatest sex symbol of our time really justify to tearing me to shreds?

Apparently, yes, it does.

Some publications were kind about it, calling me plump, full figured, Rubenesque, plus sized, curvy and voluptuous. Many more were unkind though, calling me rotund, corpulent, butterball, chunky, hefty, dumpy, bovine, and most of all, fat.

The consensus seemed to be that I was far too whale-like to deserve a man like Tom.

It hurt.

It’s funny how you can have a healthy self-esteem one day and the next, feel as though you are flailing around like a beached whale (literally, according to some publications) out of water.

I have never wanted for male attention, I’m not the most beautiful woman in any room but I have never gone too long without a boyfriend, and not the sad­loser type of guys who can’t do any better than the fat chick, but nice, normal guys. I’ve dated older men and younger men, a former male model (although he only modelled while in university), skinny men, a muscle bound fitness fanatic and even a millionaire (which isn’t saying much these days, most London homeowners were paper millionaires) but the point is, I have never felt less than any of the men I have dated, no matter their shape, size or worth.

It wasn’t a nice sensation and I felt like curling up under a blanket and bawling my eyes out, then eating a tub of ice cream while watching crappy romantic comedies.

But I didn’t. Somehow I kept it together and remained dry eyed as Tom and Luke dissected the articles.

“The good news is, no one seems to think this is fake,” Luke said after they’d looked through a few. “Many seem dismayed, but Mac’s unattractiveness seems to work in our favour. No one thinks you’d fake a marriage with someone so-”

“Luke!” Tom cut him off with one word.

He had the good grace to look a little shamefaced as he glanced at me, but he smiled. “This is good news,” he tried to assure me. “This could actually work.”

“I’m so glad that my being torn to shreds is good for your client,” I glared at him. “If nobody minds, I’ll leave you two to it.”

I got up and went through to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me, although the hotel was so plush that the door didn’t give the resounding thump that I had hoped for.

I could hear them start talking again and so that I wasn’t tempted to try and eavesdrop, I went into the bathroom and took a shower. I still had a ton of hairspray and styling products in from last night, making my hair feel rather like straw.

I turned my face to the spray and as the water cascaded over me, I cried.

How on earth was I going to endure a year of this crap? A year of being slaughtered in the press, then having my too fat carcass picked over by bitchy gossip columnists?

I stayed under the water for longer than was necessary, until my fingertips had started to prune, but I needed the time to compose myself. By the time I had dried off and dressed in jeans and a thin sweater, Luke and his newspapers and websites, were gone.

“Hey,” Tom smiled at me as I emerged. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry about what Luke said­.”

“He didn’t say anything everyone else hadn’t already said.” I helped myself to a diet coke from the minibar.

“It was still insensitive.”

I turned to him, hating that I not only had to bolster my own self-image, but somehow also prove to him that I wasn’t affected.

“I’m not a child, Tom. I know I’m not the Hollywood definition of beautiful. I know I’ll never grace a runway. I know I’m overweight. I also know that I’d much rather be fat than unkind, like all those vultures printing that stuff. I’m a good person, I’m kind and intelligent and well-read, I do charity runs for good causes a few times a year and I’d give my last tenner to someone if it would cheer them up. I couldn’t give a crap if I don’t fit someone’s physical ideal because as far as I’m concerned, I’m a pretty fucking ideal person!”

My words were rather belied by my rising temper and the tears pricking my eyes as I turned away but if I thought I had fooled him. I was wrong.

He came up and put his arms around me, hugging me tightly and while I fought for a moment, I quickly gave in. I needed a hug and he was very huggable.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, holding me, his hand running up and down my back, soothing me. I shed a few tears but thanks to his comfort, I didn’t break down and bawl and when I finally pulled away I felt much better.

Tom looked down at me with a warm expression. “I think you’re everything you said earlier, _and_ you’re stunning to boot.”

“Thank you.” I almost believed him.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and I debated the wisdom of kissing him back.

“Now, we’ve got to leave early tomorrow, so are you nearly packed?”

“I hardly unpacked,” I confessed. “All the makeup and hairspray I wore yesterday belonged to the people you hired.”

“Then let’s go shopping.”

“But I don’t need anything!”

“Where’s the fun in only shopping for what you need?” he grinned.

“Clearly it’s been awhile since you had to live on a budget.”

“Yes, and now you don’t need to worry about that stuff either.”

He reached into his back pocket and brandished a bank card. “For you.”

“Tom, no, I can't.”

“Oh come on, please,” he urged, much like I imagine a child would plead with a parent to be allowed more sweets. “I know this fantastic little book shop, you’ll love it, I promise.”

“Fine.” I shook my head as I agreed, unable to believe I was giving into those puppy dog eyes so easily.

His toothy grin was my reward and although I argued that I didn’t have any makeup on and my hair was still wet, Tom simply assured me that I looked gorgeous and that the sun would dry my hair.

When I reminded him that the press might follow us, he slapped a baseball cap on my head (and his own) and told me to remember my sunglasses.

The man was a force of nature and I was left with little option but to follow in his wake, laughing as he dragged me down the corridor to the lift.

***

A two days later we were back in the UK and I was about to move in with Tom. We’d got in late last night and I’d stayed in his spare room, but I felt like a guest and we’d left early this morning, so that I’d have plenty of time to pack.

He has insisted on driving me and wanting to meet my family and friends. I wasn’t sure if that was because he really wanted to meet them, or as was more likely, he wanted to make the story of our marriage more believable.

It suddenly felt very strange to be back in my little home in Colchester. My furniture was being packed up and stored by a removals company, so I only had to pack personal items, which I could easily do in an afternoon, especially as I could visit the storage unit for anything I had forgotten.

As soon as we got here, I looked around the whole house, knowing this would be the last time I was here. It was rented but I’d lived here for nearly 5 years now, and it felt like mine.

“You have a nice house,” he said, trailing after me as I went from room to room.

“Thanks.” It was nothing compared to his but I liked it. “We should probably go and see Anna before we start.”

Anna was my Mum’s sister, the one who had helped me nurse her.

“Where does she live?” Tom asked, perusing my photograph collection on the mantelpiece.

“About fifteen minutes away. Mum was born here, so although we aren’t a large family, we’re all local. Mum was the only one to move away, after she married my Dad, but even she came back.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him my family history, but he seemed to be listening.

“Is this your Mum?” he asked, showing me a picture he’d plucked off my mantelpiece.

“Yeah,” I smiled as I saw it. “That was my 21st birthday party.”

Tom put an arm around my shoulders as he put the picture back. “Let’s go and met your aunt,” he said, probably so that I wouldn’t grow too maudlin.

“Sure.”

As we left the house, I paused to look at my car on the driveway. It was tiny, a Ford Ka, but it was fairly new, only 3 years old and I supposed in London, it was better to have a small car than a large one. Tom’s Jaguar, luxurious though it was, must be a nightmare to park.

Mind you, seeing his sleek black Jaguar parked by my stubby black Ka was rather amusing. Suddenly it hit me, this was how people viewed us, Tom as the sleek Jag, and me as the stubby Ka. It was a troubling realisation.

I was happy to take his car to my Aunt’s since it’s not like parking was an issue in a Colchester cul­de­sac. Her house was much like mine, modest although slightly bigger, since she’d raised a family here. She also owned her home, while I had always rented.

I was nervous as I rang the bell, praying that she would like Tom and not judge me too harshly. I’d called to tell her, obviously, and she already knew thanks to friends who called to tell her what they had read, but our conversation hadn’t been long.

She’d been surprised, and she’d questioned me, obviously, but nothing like I’d expected, so I was worried I’d be facing the bollocking I’d avoided on the phone.

As we walked up the drive, I could see her neighbours’ curtains twitching. Maybe we should have brought the Ka, it wouldn’t have attracted as much attention.

“Well,” Anna smiled as she opened the door. “This is unexpected.”

“Anna, this is Tom, my husband, Tom, this is my Aunt Anna,” I introduced.

“Pleasure,” Tom said stepping forward and offering his hand, then kissing Anna on the cheek. “I must apologise for the nature of this meeting, we handled things very poorly.”

“Well come in,” she said, stepping back. I was still unable to discern her mood.

I was never very comfortable around Anna at the best of times because unlike my mother, who was an open book, Anna was very difficult to read.

“The kettle’s just boiled, would you like a cup?”

“Love one,” Tom smiled at her as she led us to the rear of the house. “Barry’s out at the moment, but I’m sure he’d love to meet you, if you can stay a while.”

“Her husband,” I whispered to Tom as Anna pottered around the kitchen. We took a seat at the small kitchen table by the wall.

“Don and Mandy were thrilled when they heard,” Anne continued.

“Her son and his wife,” I mouthed to Tom, who nodded his understanding.

She continued to go on about how they loved his films and wanted his autograph as she approached with the tea tray and laid everything out.

I remembered that she tended to talk a lot when she was nervous but right now, I was glad of her filling any awkward silences. Tom seemed amused by her chatter, more than anything. Once she had poured our tea, she finally stopped talking and took a deep breath.

“So, perhaps one of you would like to tell me why I didn’t even know you were dating, and why I had to read about your marriage in the tabloids?”

“That’s entirely my fault, I’m afraid,” Tom jumped in. “I’m afraid that my life tends to get a little manic and I’d hoped that by keeping our relationship secret, I could shield Mac from the worst of it for as long as possible.”

“And the wedding?”

Tom reached out and took my hand. “That was my fault too. I knew from the first day we met that I wanted to marry her,” he gave me a smile that would have made me weak in the knees, if only it were real. “We’d been talking about it for ages, and while we were out there… it just happened. But neither of us regret it.”

“No,” I returned Tom’s smile.

“Well,” Anna huffed. “Next time, a call before the ceremony wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I don’t expect we’ll get married again,” I tried to tease, but Anna evidently wasn’t in the mood as my joke went down like a lead ballon.

The doorbell rang so Anna went to answer it but we could hear the entire conversation; that’s the trouble with small houses.

_“Anna, I remembered that I still had your hammer and I thought I’d return it.”_

_“You borrowed it five years ago, Mike. We’ve bought a new one.”_

_“Oh my gosh! Has it been that long? I’m so sorry!”_

_“Don’t worry about it, you keep it. Now if you’ll excuse me, my niece is visiting.”_

_“Oh yes, I noticed the nice car. How are Mackenzie and her new husband?”_

_“I’m not sure, they haven’t been here five minutes yet.”_

_“Oh yes, of course. Are we still on for bridge on Friday?”_

_“Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”_

_“Yes, yes. Give them my best wishes, won’t you.”_

_“I will. We’ll see you next Friday.”_

Anna returned looking peeved. “That’s been happening quite a bit,” she told Tom. “We’re the most popular house in the street, all of a sudden.”

“And that is exactly what I was trying to shield Mac from, and you, of course.”

“Hmm,” she murmured.

“Hello,” a voice called from the front door. “I hear we have visitors.”

“In the kitchen,” Anna called, and a second later, her husband came in carrying grocery bags.

“I’m so glad I didn’t miss you,” he smiled as he put the bags on the side, then he came over to shake hands while I made the introductions.

Barry’s presence made the meeting a lot easier, until he insisted on showing Tom his carpentry workshop in the garage, where he made bird tables and the like.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Anna turned her beady gaze on me.

For sisters, she and my mother were like night and day. My Mum preferred to laugh at life, while Anna took things very seriously and was something of a worrier.

“So, tell me the truth,” she said.

“What truth?” I asked, suddenly terrified that she might have seen through our lies.

“Why did you really do this? Is this some kind of reaction to your mum dying or something?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Well one moment you’re dumping Graham-”

“Because he was actually complaining that my sick mother was taking too much time away from him!”

“And the next you’re married to some stranger, moving to London and quitting your job.”

“Look,” I leaned forward and took her hands. “In all honesty, I don’t know if this with Tom will last six months or 60 years. All I do know is that right now, he makes me happy, and after the year I’ve had, I could use a little happy.”

And that was all true. Being with Tom, even platonically, did make me happy and although it was highly doubtful we’d be married in 60 years, I would be lying if I denied that there was a little voice in the back of my mind that secretly hoped this was… more than just a sham. I was trying my hardest to murder that voice before she got my hopes up, but she would stubbornly hide, then come out and speak to me when I was at my weakest.

“But quitting your job-”

“Tom offered me the chance to really write, something I’ve done very little of for the past year. This is what I’ve always wanted to do and now I have the time and resources to devote to it.”

“But what if the marriage doesn’t work?”

“We weren’t totally stupid, Anna, we signed a pre­nup and if it doesn’t work, I will have a nice settlement to tide me over until I can get another job. I can't lose.”

“Then I wish you all the luck in the world.” Anna squeezed my hands and smiled.

I felt bad for lying now, but most of my reassurances had been true.

The doorbell rang again and Anna rolled her eyes.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked.

“No. They’ll get the message.”

***

Tom’s home was in the heart of London but he had off street parking and a small garden at the rear. The house itself felt rather TARDIS-like, not much to look at from the outside but seemingly endless inside. It had five bedrooms and a number of reception rooms that I wasn’t sure the purpose of. The main room was huge but like the rest of the house, it was light and airy. The downstairs had unfinished wooden doors and floors and the upstairs, although carpeted, had natural pine doors. It made the house seem very warm and homey.

My favourite feature though, was the wall of books in the living room. I had left all but a few of my own books to be packed up and put in storage, but this felt like a home away from home.

I browsed the books and was surprised by the eclectic collection, everything from Shakespeare and biographies, to The Da Vinci Code and James Patterson.

“Have you read all these?” I asked.

“The vast majority,” he answered. “I confess, my ‘to be read’ pile is getting so large now, I’m not sure I’ll ever get through it.”

“I know that feeling,” I agreed.

“So, where do you want to set up your computer?” he asked.

I had my own bedroom upstairs, which would be a relief. Sharing a bed with him in hotels was both tantalising and exciting, while also being simultaneously torturous. Tom wore boxer­briefs to bed but that did little to disguise his attractiveness.

I had worn yoga pants and a t­shirt, but I usually slept nude and it would be much more comfortable to get back to that.

I was pretty much unpacked up there now, only my downstairs things remained to be put away. Tom had offered me my pick of rooms to turn into my office.

“I can just work from the laptop,” I assured him. “Everything’s backed up onto the cloud and synchronised.”

“You’re going to be here a year, you might as well make yourself at home.”

“Okay. What about the sun room?” I asked.

“Sun room?”

“The one that looks on to the garden and only seems to house your laptop.”

“Sure.” He picked up the box that had my tower and carried it through, then he helped me set everything up.

It was getting late by the time we were finished and Tom suggested we order in, which was fine by me.

“So how do you typically spend your evenings?” he asked as we settled on his sofas (yes, plural) with a glass of wine. “The TV is all set up with Sky and Netflix, and you can record anything you want from the planner, but I don’t generally watch much television.”

“Me either,” I agreed. “I like to mainline box sets of good shows sometimes but on the whole, TV just seems to be a giant time suck.”

“I know, right?” he grinned at me. “And I’m the same on box sets, although I have quite a backlog.”

“A ‘to be watched’ pile?” I teased, recalling our earlier conversation on books.

“Indeed.”

“So do you want to watch a movie tonight?” I suggested.

“Sure.”

We browsed Netflix but I deferred to his choice since it was his home and his dime, and I spent the next three weeks like that, feeling like a guest, unable to really settle and agreeing with all his decisions.

***

A week after I’d moved in, we attended the birthday party for James, one of Tom’s theatre friends. It was in their home, so very low key, he said, smart casual dress, and probably no press.

I opted to wear a black maxi dress and a teamed it with a sparkling cardigan and nice costume jewellery.

His friend lived in a massive house and turned out to be a respected director in his 50s who clearly came from family money. I was given a glass of champagne as soon as I arrived but I only had a sip, I’m not a huge fan as I find it gives me heartburn. I’d rather have red wine, mixers, or shots.

We were ushered into a reception room and the décor reminded me of the hotel room in Las Vegas, very plush and professionally decorated. The whole house seemed to be decorated in cream and gold; it looked lovely but I’d be afraid to live here (around me, white surfaces don’t stay white for long).

Everyone was very friendly and while I was a tad intimidated by all the famous faces here, I was no wilting wallflower and I quickly got chatting to people. Tom’s champagne glass was topped up frequently but mine far less frequently. I kept an eye open for another option on the drink front but I couldn’t see a bar and the waiters (who had waiters at a birthday?) only offered me champagne.

After a couple of hours, I found myself discussing royalty with a group of four other people, besides me and Tom, including two typically beautiful women, who were skinny, bleached blonde (probably with hair extensions) and seemed rather cool towards me but exceptionally friendly to Tom. One of the men was John, our host’s father, and the other was his brother, Edward. The women looked to be early 20s but their faces were so paralysed with Botox that it was hard to be sure.

If they’d had eyes for anyone other than Tom, they would have been well in with these gentlemen, who were literally salivating. Okay, not literally, but they were being far nicer to these women than their opinions warranted.

“So I don’t think that Shakespeare wrote those plays,” blonde number one said, even though our conversation had been about the real Henry V, not the play.

I was getting tired of their trying to butt into a conversation that they clearly knew nothing about, and the gentlemen were too kind to say anything. They didn’t even roll their eyes; only Tom shot me a quick smirk occasionally.

“Really?” I looked at her. “What’s your proof?” I asked, sounding interested.

“I saw that film, Anonymous.”

“Okay, but what’s the prof that he didn’t write his plays?”

“Well, what proof is there that he did?”

Ah, yes, turn a question around, an excellent avoidance tactic. Unfortunately I am an avid reader, so I know just a little of which I speak.

“First of all, he actually put his name on the plays, something few others did at the time, and he was a rock star of the theatre world during his lifetime, so there are contemporary account of him during his lifetime. Kind of hard to hide your identity when you’re famous. Secondly…”

I could see their eyes growing wide. Maybe in their world, no one questioned them very often.

“Finally, linguistic and stylistic studies prove that aside from a handful of plays he collaborated on, the writing style is unique only to Shakespeare’s plays, he fully authored most of them and worked on all of them, that means that they were all written by the same man, and that unique style does not match anyone else of the time.”

“Here, here!” John raised his glass at me, “These anti­Stratfordians do annoy me, and that film did a lot of damage. Why don’t people look into things before forming an opinion?”

I shrugged and Tom was grinning at me. I couldn’t help but think that John had just blown his chances of getting laid tonight, assuming he was ever in with a shot.

Just then our host, James appeared.

“Thomas, I'm glad I found you.”

“Oh no,” Edward dropped his head into his hand. “Please, I can't take any more talk of the Monet!”

“Monet?” Tom asked.

“Yes, I bought some sketches, dear boy, you must come and look.”

“Do you want to come?” he asked me.

“I’m okay here,” I smiled; art wasn’t really my bailiwick.

Our conversation continued for a while until John and Edward decided to excuse themselves and rescue Tom. I was fine mingling and seeing who else I could meet.

The women both smiled at me and as I was about to excuse myself, blonde number two leaned forward slightly. I couldn’t for the life of me remember their names.

“Can I just say how much I admire you for being you.” Her tone of voice was one I was familiar with, the faux-voice, I called it, used by faux-friends, for faux-confessions, and all sorts of general nastiness concealed by a veil of civility.

“Being me?” I frowned, confused by this turn of events so I wasn’t sure what she was intimating.

“You know,” she gestured to my figure.

“Oh, you mean not giving into societal pressure and starving myself to achieve a body-type that is only healthy for 5% of the population? Thanks, I admire that about me too.”

“No, really,” her friend spoke up. “You must have so much confidence to just be you.”

A waiter was going around with a tray of canapé’s now.

“Yeah, you know what else? I’m also confident enough that I don’t try to undermine other women’s self-esteem with backhanded compliments and snide digs.” I reached for some puff pastry thing from the waiter. “You should try eating something other than lettuce and steamed chicken sometimes, you might find when you have proper nutrition, you won’t be such bitches.”

I stuffed the nibble into my mouth, whole, and smiled as I chewed. They gave me a look somewhere between disbelief and disgust.

“So tasty!” I said as I swallowed.

Someone materialised at my side as the women backed off, clearly feeling I must be insane and that they needed to distance themselves before I turned violent.

“Oh and by the way, I’m a natural blonde so I don’t have this trouble, but I’m told that Three Minute Miracle really helps with that dull, straw-like texture that bleached blonds have.” I smirked at them.

“I think I love you,” the man beside me said, grinning at me. He had an American accent and was wearing a grey suit but without a tie. He had dark, impossibly black hair and a short beard.

“Excuse me?”

“For putting Pinky and Perky in their places.” He was still grinning.

“Friends of yours?” I asked.

“Oh no!” he said, shocked. “I just know them from around, and they are some of the most superficial, backstabbing people I’ve ever met. Seeing you put them down was fantastic.”

“Glad I could oblige,” I smiled.

“I’m Zach, by the way.”

“Mac,” I said, holding my hand out.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he smiled, taking my hand and kissing the back.

“And you.” Somewhat reluctantly, I extracted my hand. “So, who do I have to sleep with around here to get something other than champagne to drink?”

“Not a fan?” he asked.

“Nope. Nor of lobster, caviar, or truffles.” Not that I’m offered such fare often, but I’ve been to more than my share of book launches and have encountered them all being served at such events.

“Cheap date, I like it,” he nodded. “Unfortunately for you, I know where this guy keeps his stash, so it’s me you have to sleep with if you want me to pilfer something for you.”

I looked him up and down before replying. “Eh, I suppose I can slum it for a night.”

Zach laughed out loud and with a hand in the small of my back, guided me through into the kitchen, where he found and opened a bottle of red wine for me, despite my protests that we shouldn’t. He also joined me in a glass.

“So,” I asked as we made our way back to the party; there were four reception rooms open and people mingling in each of them. “What brings you to our cold, damp and dismal country?” I asked, sipping my red wine as we went.

“A film.”

“Oh, movie actor,” I smiled. “Nice.”

“Pays the bills,” he shrugged. I liked him. A lot. I just wished I knew what the rules of my pseudo-marriage were, Tom and I hadn’t talked about cheating yet. Not that I was considering sleeping with Zach... Yet.

“What about you, what do you do?”

“I’m taking a year off to write.”

“It’s not a year off,” he said.

“No?”

“If you’re writing, then you’re working, right?”

“I guess. Everyone always says ‘year off’ though but you’re right, it is work.”

“So, what will you be writing about?”

We wandered into the dining room and I looked about for Tom and saw him standing very close to a redhead, flirting with her. She leaned forward and whispered something in his ear, making him smile.

“I hate this song,” I said, turning my back on them. “Let’s go back into the lounge so we can talk properly.” There was no music in that room.

“Sure thing.”

“To answer your question,” I said as we walked, “I think I’ll write historical novels, I love history, but I have a number of half-finished projects. I’m going to review those, and choose my favourite to start with.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

We took a seat on one of the sofas and I asked a little about his project, while he asked me about the must-see places in London.

I only had half my attention on our conversation, the other half was wondering what Tom and his redhead were getting up to. The alcohol was flowing freely, loosening people up, and I’d noticed a few couples getting rather close to indecent, some leaving the room, which made me wonder if perhaps bedrooms had been opened up and that’s where people were escaping to.

I’m not sure how long we were talking for when I looked up to see Tom leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at us with an odd look on his face. Blonde number two was beside him but he seemed to be ignoring her. A second later his strange look was gone and he smiled, pushing off and coming over, not sparing the blonde a second look.

“Darling,” he leaned down and kissed my cheek. “I see you’ve met Zach.”

“He’s been keeping me company,” I smiled, but it was a little tight. “Are you two friends?”

“Mac? Mackenzie!” Zach hit his forehead with the heal of his hand. “So you’re the­”

“My wife, yes,” Tom finished, taking a seat beside me and putting a possessive arm around my shoulders.

“So…” Suddenly everything felt awkward. “How do you two know each other?”

“We did a movie together,” Zach answered.

“Yeah, a couple of years ago,” Tom answered.

Silence reigned for a couple of moments, until Zach sat forward. “Another drink?” he asked me.

“Yes, please.” I handed him my glass and relaxed as he left the room.

“You seemed… friendly,” Tom said, his tone pointed. I couldn’t look at him, my emotions were too mixed.

“He’s nice,” I answered. I hadn’t done anything wrong, I hadn’t even flirted.

“He’s a good man,” Tom admitted, softening slightly.

“Where’s the redhead?”

“Who?”

“The woman whispering in your ear, making you laugh?”

“Victoria? She’s just a friend, we did a play together a years ago, soon after I left RADA.”

“You must have been very… close,” I said a little spitefully. He didn’t deserve that but I couldn’t help it. “It’s all right, this isn’t a real marriage,” I carried on. “We should probably set down some rules for…well, it’s not cheating, exactly, but whatever that was.”

“We were very close,” Tom said, and it felt as though my heart was being squeezed, “but not in the way you mean.”

I turned to look at him.

“Victoria likes women, love.”

My mouth formed a rather unattractive O shape.

“Sorry.”

“Were you jealous?” he asked with a sexy as hell smirk. Unfortunately, I was too mortified to enjoy it.

“No,” I denied, my cheeks colouring. “Just… confused about the boundaries.”

“Look, I can't promise to go without sex for a year but I can tell you that if I meet someone else and I’m tempted, I’ll let you know and we can decide how to proceed.”

Not exactly the reassurance I had hoped for but then again, I couldn’t expect him to go without for a year, and the no sex embargo had been my idea.

“I’ll buy you a fleshlight,” I teased. Since one night stands weren’t really my thing, machinery would be the only thing I’d be likely to have sex with until we divorced.

Tom laughed but Zach returned then, halting his surely risqué reply.

“Here we go,” Zach was carrying a tray with my glass, a bottle of red wine, two tumblers and a bottle of scotch. “I thought it was time to break out the good stuff,” he smiled at Tom.

“Brilliant idea,” Tom grinned.

We sat there and chatted for most of the night. Zach told a lot of embarrassing stories about Tom, and Tom got his revenge by telling tales on Zach, and as I sat there, mostly just listening to their tales, I realised that there was no comparison. Zach was nice, but he wasn’t Tom.

Various people joined our group and then drifted away, until it was just a group of seven of us left, all seated around the reception room.

Everyone was drunk but no one was insensible and when we finally left at 2am, I knew I had made some new friends that evening.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Tom went away to film in Scotland for a few weeks and I finally felt as if I could breathe. He would be back some weekends, but most of the time I had the house to myself. I could leave dishes in the sink if I wanted to, eat junk food without feeling judged and slob around in yoga gear without feeling self-conscious.

We had a burst of nice weather before autumn finally set in, an Indian summer and to make the most of it, I often took the laptop out into the garden to write, even running a cable out there so I could work all day without the battery going.

I had been putting in eight or nine hours a day, feeling as though I had to treat my writing as a proper job rather than a year off, but I had a lot to work with. Reviewing my old files brought up a lot of partial manuscripts and a lot more plot outlines that I hadn’t ever had time to start writing. After a few days of browsing, I found a partial manuscript that inspired me and began to flesh it out and finish it.

It was a fictionalised version of the life of Eleanor of Aquitaine, from the 12th century, that was about 70% completed. Like many women in her time, she had 10 children. Unlike many people of her time, she lived to be 80, and had her first marriage to the king of France annulled at her behest (despite bearing two female children to him) and went on to marry the king of England. As well as being Duchess in her own right, she had ruled England while her husband was away at the Crusades, had conspired against him with her sons, had been imprisoned for 16 years, and eventually outlived both husbands and all but 2 of her children.

I had loved her story when I first read about her as a child and I had read a few biographies of her over the years, all of which only added to my interest.

I read through the existing manuscript, then continued it and fleshed out the bits I had left for later and once finished, I set about editing it.

I tried to cut the manuscript down, knowing it was far too long but it was hard. Instead I worked to make first three chapters the best they could be. If there was any interest, I could discuss with a publisher the option of either cutting a lot of the text from the book, or possibly splitting it into two volumes.

Without Tom to suggest leaving work in the evenings, I often worked into the night. Five weeks after I had moved in with Tom, I was ready to send the manuscript out and printed off 22 copies of the first three chapters. I spend the first weekend when Tom returned home writing covering letters and stuffing envelopes.

He asked to read it but I wouldn’t let him, I was too afraid that he might not like it. Tom returned to the set on Monday and I found myself all alone and feeling rather bereft.

I knew from my work that it typically took 3 months to get a reply from publishing houses. Indeed many would never reply, but it was a given that after 3 months with no communication, assume your manuscript had been rejected.

I tried to work on other projects but I felt too antsy to settle to them.

Without work to occupy me, I began to feel lonely. I had been emailing and texting with my friends but most of them worked in or around Colchester and it was hard to see them. I knew I could visit them but they worked 9­5 and didn’t exactly have a lot of free time, as I did now.

I began baking, something I’d enjoyed since I was a kid, but I did so sparingly because usually I took my treats into work or gave them to friends. Now there was only me to eat whatever I created and I was very aware that I was already being judged for my weight.

I got back into running, which I had sadly neglected since Tom left, and I found that I discovered a lot more of my new neighbourhood that way. I also raided Tom’s library and picked a couple of thrillers to read but with so little else to occupy me, I finished a book a day.

Tom didn’t return the next weekend and my feelings of isolation increased. Even the thrillers weren’t holding my attention now, so I picked up one of Tom’s scripts. I knew I probably shouldn’t be reading them, but I had signed an NDA, so I wouldn’t be disclosing their contents.

I could read a script in a couple of hours and over the weekend, I finished his whole pile of scripts. Some were better than others and I wondered which ones he was interested in.

I returned to thrillers after that but my feeling of isolation didn’t improve, so I took a book and visited a local coffee shop that I’d spotted while running.

It was amazing! Seriously, my cakes were nice but these were wonderful, especially curled up on a window seat with my book and cake. Heaven!

Before I left I had to compliment the baker, a lady called Cate who was helping to serve. Once I mentioned that her cakes were even better than mine, we got into a discussion about recipes and I must have spent half an hour talking to her. Luckily the café was in a bit of a lull, so I wasn’t taking her away from her work. She even offered to give me her recipe but I refused, saying that if I made them at home, my life would become one long attempt to stop myself eating the cake.

I did however, assure her that I would be back often, which she seemed pleased about.

As I walked home, I felt happier than I had in ages and I realised how long it had been since I’d had an actual conversation with someone. I needed to get out more. Maybe I should get a dog, walking it would be a great way to meet new people.

Over the next few days I developed a bit of a routine. After checking my emails, I went for a five mile run, then after showering, I did any jobs I needed to around the house. After lunch, I walked to the café with that day’s book and rewarded myself with a slice of chocolate cake.

I still had no replies on my manuscript and seemed unable to focus on a new project but I was considering either writing a biography of my mother, or basing a fictional character on her. I knew that her life wasn’t really interesting enough to justify a biography but I wanted to memorialise her on the page in some fashion; she might not have been a hero to most people, but she was my hero and she deserved recognition.

I got a text from Tracy, an old school friend of mine who loved gossip. She had sent me a link to a Berlin Marriott’s gossip site that was speculating on the odds of me being pregnant. I probably

shouldn’t have, but I went and had a look.

The article was unflattering, if totally wrong about the pregnancy and at the end, I noticed there were a lot of tags related to me. ‘Mac Hiddleston’, ‘Mrs Hiddleston’ and ‘Hiddles Wife’ were among the nicer ones. I clicked one, even though I knew I probably wouldn’t like what I found, but I was truly shocked to see pictures of me from the cafe. Apparently they had a second article on my pregnancy uploaded only a few minutes ago, titled ‘Mrs Hiddleston’s Baby Cravings’.

I clicked the images and sure enough there was me, sitting on my window seat, eating cake and sipping tea. I went back to the tag list and realised that someone had been following me for a while. There were pictures of me on the way to the shops, running through the park and almost every other time I’d dared to step foot outside the front door.

This gossip columnist was particularly nasty, having anointed my pictures with doodles, drawing attention to the fact I was fat, in case anyone was somehow unaware of that. And seriously, only the sadist would take pictures of someone exercising, no one looked good while sweaty.

I felt like taking to twitter to defend myself but Luke had said that under no circumstances should I do anything like that. He’d made me practically swear to stay away from social media, except facebook, which he made sure I had set to friends only.

But this was my life, my image being defaced, my body being shamed. Didn’t I deserve the right to reply?

I logged into twitter through my phone.

_Bloggers think it’s cool to make fun of fat people like me for keeping healthy & exercising, then wonder why we have an obesity epidemic. _

_I’d like to see your six pack, @BerlinGossip. People in glass houses…_

Berlin Marriott wasn’t exactly known for being slim and fit either. I was willing to bet I could beat him in a race.

I logged out of the app after that so that I didn’t receive updates and tried to get back to my book.

***

I became a bit of a hermit for the next few days, keeping to the house and settling for doing yoga, but hardly leaving the house. It took me four days to build my self-confidence up to the point where I was willing to go running.

I had ordered a selection of t­shirts from Amazon with slogans on, including, ‘Don’t p*ss me off, I’m running out of places to hide the bodies’, ‘I’m not fat, I’m fabulous’ and ‘I run. I’m slower than a herd of tortoises stampeding through peanut butter, but I run’.

I chose the last one and set out. Almost as a one in the eye for those bloggers, I added an extra mile to my route, running six miles. I made myself not care about who might be looking, turning my headphones up louder than usual and trying to drown out my insecurities.

When I was finished, I showered, dried my hair, dressed in one of my most flattering outfits and headed for the café. Cate welcomed me with a smile but she didn’t really have time to chat as it was still lunch time.

I wanted the chocolate cake but instead I opted for a sandwich and a pot of tea; no way was I being pictured ‘gorging’ on cake again. I also opted for a table away from the windows, where it would be harder to photograph me.

I still felt exposed and judged, so I didn’t stay long before returning home.

I was surprised to find Tom’s things in the hallway when I got back. “Tom?” I called.

He came out of the kitchen smiling. “Oh, sorry about leaving my stuff there, I only just got back and was desperate for a cup of tea.”

“No, no, it’s good to have you back, I just didn’t expect you.”

“Josh isn’t well. We’ve done all we can until without him, but he’s been signed off until Tuesday.” He was grinning.

“You look like a kid playing hooky from school.”

“I feel a bit like that,” he admitted. “So, do you feel like going to a movie tonight?”

“Uh, sure.” We’d have to act like a couple while we were out, which was both thrilling and scary, but the good kind of scary.

“Great,” his grin widened. “Tea?” he pointed to the kitchen.

“I just had some at the local café.”

“The one on the corner?”

“Yeah.”

“I love that place. We’ll go together while I’m here.”

“Oh, I should probably tell you, I’ve been photographed there. And quite a lot of other places too, actually.”

His smile faded. “You were?”

I nodded.

“I wonder why Luke didn’t say anything.”

“Why would he?”

“He’s supposed to monitor my mentions in the press and I asked him to tell me if you came in for any flack.”

“He probably thinks I deserve everything I get.”

“I’m sorry that happened. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged it off.

He frowned. “No you’re not. Come on, come and have some more tea and tell me all about it.” “Honestly, I’m not­”

“You are. Now come on, I’d be letting the side down if I didn’t ply you with tea.”

“And I suppose I’d have to hand back my English card if I refused.” I smiled.

“Of course.”

He guided me into the kitchen with a hand in the small of my back and it felt nice to have it there and once he’d sat me down, he finished making a pot of tea.

“There’s some chocolate muffins in the breadbin,” I offered.

“Ooh!” he went to look and emerged with two of them.

“Oh, not for me, thanks. I just had cake at the café.” I don’t know why I lied. Just like I didn’t know why I baked muffins yesterday but hadn’t eaten any.

“So,” Tom said as he sat down and poured. “What pictures?”

“Uh, just some speculating that I’m pregnant.”

“Really?” Tom frowned. “Well, I suppose some are thinking ‘shotgun wedding’.”

“And fat wife, that combined with the wedding means baby, apparently.”

“You’re not fat,” Tom chided.

My look asked if he was serious but I didn’t argue with him.

“Darling, you’re perfect, just as you are.”

Well, that sounded more like it, that’s what I used to believe. It’s what I still believed, I just didn’t feel it any more.

“Thank you,” I had to give him some kind of reply and I tried to sound as sincere as possible.

“So is that all or have they been saying other things?”

“There’s a few pictures of me jogging,” I answered, twisting my hands together. This was excruciating, laying all my faults out for him to see.

“Okay, I can tell you don’t want to discuss this, so how about the book, have you had any replies?”

“No, but it’s a bit too soon to hear back.”

“Are you working on anything else?”

“No. I’ve tried but I’m just too nervous right now. I’ve been reading a lot instead but I’m sure I’ll get back to writing soon.”

“And you’re settling in okay?”

“I am. And raiding your library. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t, books were made to be read,” he smiled, and it made my heart flip­flop like a fish out of water. Which is kind of how I always felt around him.

“So what movie did you want to see?” I asked.

“I just thought we’d check the listings.”

We ended up seeing an indie film that Tom wanted to see but was far too pretentious for me. I tried to fake enthusiasm afterwards as we returned to his car, but Tom clearly knew how to read me.

“I thought that the son was rather… interesting and the way he just sat there and watched was incredibly, uh…”

“You hated it,” Tom said with a smile, taking my hand.

“I didn’t­” but he was right. “Okay, I thought it was two hours of pretentious navel gazing showing the worst in humanity.”

Tom threw his head back as he laughed, slipping an arm around my shoulder. “Actually, I agree. The premise sounded interesting but the execution was seriously flawed.”

I slipped an arm around his waist and smiled. “And what was up with the bloke who played the father? Was that gormless look intentional or just how he looks?”

Tom chuckled. “Not entirely sure,” he admitted, “but it was annoying.”

We paused by the car and Tom came to the passenger side with me, trapping me against the car with an arm on either side of me, then he leaned down and stole a kiss. To be fair, if he’d asked, I would have gift wrapped the kiss for him.

As he pulled away, he looked at me with such desire in his eyes that for a second, I almost pulled him back down for a repeat.

“Do you want to get a bite to eat while we’re out? Or a drink or something?”

“Uh, sure.” Maybe it was shallow of me, but all the while he kept behaving like we were a real couple, I was happy to stay out all night. When he looked at me like he did when we were pretending to be married, I almost believed that were a real couple and although I was slightly ashamed of myself for needing the pretence, I did need it at the moment.

***

We went out each day he was there, on the Saturday for a bite of lunch, then on the Sunday we went running together. Tom usually did five miles when he ran but he was happy to do my new six mile route. On the Monday we went out shopping, but not for anything important.

Tom insisted we visit a lingerie shop, because that’s what a couple in love might do, and he foisted lots of beautiful items on me to try. He insisted on me trying them on, waiting outside the cubicle as I changed. I was a little self-conscious to start with, but the look on his face almost made me forget the hurtful things the media had said and I was regretting my sex embargo.

As I pulled the curtain back to show him a sapphire blue bra with matching French knickers, Tom stood up and stalked towards me. I recognised that look from our wedding night and since we were in a public place, it was exceptionally inappropriate.

I backed away, into the cubicle, holding a finger up to stop him, but I didn’t really want to. He stepped into the small changing room and flicked the curtain closed behind him, his hungry gaze never leaving me, then he pinned me up against the mirror and leaned down to kiss me.

I responded, my hands wrapping around his waist and pulling him against me. I could feel his erection pressing into my abdomen and despite my sex ban and the highly inappropriate situation, I needed this. I rubbed his length through his jeans and his hands dipped into my knickers.

I had a brief moment of lucidity, wondering if I was seriously going to do this but it soon passed, and I freed his length.

We did our best to be quiet but I’m not sure how successful we were. Luckily, being a Monday, it wasn’t very busy and I thought we had the changing rooms to ourselves but I would guess that Tom’s celebrity status was protecting us from being thrown, because the lady who rang our purchases up had a very knowing smirk.

I wondered what was next, would we have to have a talk about this development, or was sex just part of our faux marriage now? I would have initiated the talk except that I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet. On the way home we behaved like any young couple in love and I was hoping that maybe we could have a repeat performance once we got in.

Once we got back in the house, I went to my room and changed into my red set of new underwear, pulling a satin robe over the ensemble but as I left my room, I saw Tom in the room opposite, packing.

I’d forgotten that he was going back to the set today.

He glanced up as he saw me and took in my robe.

“God, Mac, I feel like a total arse, but I have to get back to the set, my flight leaves in two hours and my car will be here soon.”

“No, of course, I remember. I was just about to hop into the shower and was worried you’d be gone by the time I got out.”

I couldn’t tell if he believed my lie or not.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he said, sounding sincere.

“No, you have to work, I get it.”

“I’ll be back on Friday and the rest of filming will be London.” He approached me slowly but it wasn’t with a sexy intent like the last time. “I, uh, I really enjoyed these last few days and I know we should talk about what happened earlier, hopefully we’ll get a chance when I get back.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Great,” a slow smile formed on his lips. “I, uh.” He reached out and cupped my cheek with his hand, lightly brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. He leaned down and kissed me softly, a chaste kiss that really shouldn’t turn my legs to jelly but did so anyway.

“So, I’ll see you on Friday?”

“It’s a date,” he replied with a sexy smirk.

I retreated to my room, unsure if I should feel hopeful or abandoned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever, I'm so sorry.

Chapter Five

I found my writing mojo that evening and found myself penning a thriller short story, probably inspired by the books I’d been reading lately. I’ve written in a lot of different genres over the years and while thrillers weren’t exactly intellectual, they were fun, both to read and write.

I sincerely hoped that no one I knew ever died in suspicious circumstances because while I needed to research the potency of poisons, the most lethal places to stab someone, and the payload of explosives for my plot, I had a feeling that the police would not view my internet history very kindly.

Publishers don’t like authors mixing genres but I could always publish under a pseudonym. Not that this was novel length, it would have to be included in a collection of short stories or something.

This time I didn’t cut back on my running, I was only writing this for fun, so I made time to run every day and do yoga every other day. My route was now up to seven miles, which was the longest I had ever done, and I was proud of myself.

On the Wednesday, Tracy texted me a link to another gossip sight, this one claiming that Tom was cheating. I was seriously debating the wisdom of continuing to call Tracy a friend.

I checked the link and my heart stopped for a moment as I saw him with another woman. I was trying to talk my way out of feeling bad, when I noticed that Tom’s hair looked a little different. He’d had it darkened a shade or two from his natural blonde for this project, and it was slightly longer than in these pictures.

I was sceptical for a few other reasons. The primary one being that Tom was very intelligent, and I honestly didn’t see him insisting on us remaining married (to please the conservative US Oscar voting audience) then being stupid enough to be photographed with an extra marital affair. Plus, these two were only walking down the street together, so even I couldn’t be at all sure there was ever a relationship between them.

Just to be sure though (I knew I’d drive myself mad with a maelstrom of thoughts if I wasn’t certain) I got the image address and did a google image search. I found that the picture was from last year, with an unknown woman. This site had reused to make it appear that he might be cheating on me.

I replied to Tracy, telling her that if she continued to send me untrue gossip links, I would block her number. She came back basically swearing at me and I blocked her. To be fair, we hardly even saw each other once a year these days.

Tom phoned me the next morning to say the picture was old and he wasn’t cheating on me. I thought that was odd language for him, since this wasn’t a real marriage, but I assured him that I had already figured that out.

Evidently Luke was keeping him informed of some of what appeared in the press, just not what related to me. I filed that information away for future reference.

He said he was looking forward to getting home and for some unknown reason, I offered to cook for him that night, as if we were a real married couple.

He seemed delighted and said that would be appreciated as he would be tired, thanks to having a hectic week trying to make up for lost time. We decided to spend the night at home, with me cooking something that could keep, just in case he missed his flight or was delayed for any reason.

He then pressed his luck by asking if I’d make something sweet for desert. I hadn’t baked anything since he’d been gone but I assured him I would; how could I say no when he all but begged me?

I decided to bake a sticky toffee pudding, which would have a maximum of four portions so, I wouldn’t be tempted by it for too long.

Tom arrived back at about eight o’clock on Friday night, just when he was expected, and I’d dressed in one of my new sets of lingerie for the occasion, so I was ready for all possibilities.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Tom said, sipping the glass of wine I’d poured him while he had been unpacking. “You seem happier.” He noted, sitting next to me on the couch. He usually sat on the adjacent chair.

“I am,” I smiled, sipping my own wine. “Not only am I writing, I’m running seven miles a day now.”

“Training for a race?” he asked.

“No, just keeping fit. Although I should look into local races.” I’d mentioned that I ran a couple a year.

“Maybe we could do one together,” he suggested.

“Do you know your schedule ahead of time?”

“Might be tricky,” he agreed. “I can always have the time off built into my contract.”

“Isn’t that overkill? Honestly, I’m fine on my own.”

“I’m actually thinking I might be around for a while.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, there’s a production of Macbeth coming up in the New Year that I’m thinking of trying out for.”

“But won’t you be campaigning for the Oscars?”

“ _If_ I’m nominated.”

“And if you are, you need to campaign, don’t you?”

“True, and in that case, we simply won’t sell tickets for the days I’m in LA.

“What about all those scripts you have in the other room?”

“Some of them aren’t due to film for months, some will get stuck in development hell.”

“I, um…” I cringed slightly. “I should probably tell you, I read… some of them… all of them.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured me “That’s why Luke insisted on the NDA agreement. I assume you haven’t told anyone?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it’s fine. Just out of interest, what did you think?”

“You have a lot of romance and comedies.”

He laughed. “Just for a change of pace. I meant, did you like any of them?”

“I liked the one called Midnight in Paris. The title sucks but the screenplay is great.”

“You didn’t like any of the comedies or the romances?”

“Um…” I grimaced again. “Honestly, they were all a bit derivative and unoriginal, and most were full of sexist, racist, homophobic and or other insulting humour, and that goes for both the romcoms and comedies. I’m sorry, but you did ask.”

He sighed. “I felt the same, to be honest. And I did like Midnight in Paris, but it’s another spy story and I’ve recently done that.”

“You’ve done lots of Shakespeare too.”

“But not Macbeth.”

“Well, it is a great play.” The idea of him being around wasn’t awful. “I made a casserole for dinner, I hope you like that.” “Sounds delicious.”

“I hope you’re hungry?”

“Famished, darling.”

As we made our way through to the kitchen, Tom said, “Anyway, let me apologise again for those rumours. It must have felt awful.”

“Well, technically you’re a free agent,” I answered, glad that my back was to him. I didn’t really have any claim on him so I had no right to feel jealous.

“Actually, _technically_ speaking, I’m married.”

“You know what I mean, this isn’t a real relationship.”

“It could be,” he insisted.

I headed straight for the oven to check on the casserole, so I didn’t have to look at him.

“I know I agreed to a platonic relationship but honestly, it’s killing me, Mac. Being around you and not being able to have you… it’s torture.”

Oh god, I had a decision to make very soon and I still didn’t know what I wanted.

“I thought you weren’t a one woman kind of guy,” I said, stirring the pot.

Tom sighed and I wondered what that meant.

“Look it’s fine, this isn’t a real relationship, it’s a one night stand that went badly wrong, you’re free to see whoever you want, technically or otherwise.”

“I don’t _want_ to see anyone else,” he said, sounding stressed.

I began to serve up, buying myself a little more time to avoid him.

“Look, it’s true I have had a lot of relationships recently but they were always monogamous and… I know this isn’t a real relationship, but I like you…a lot. While I can't promise you a future, Mac, because… well I tend to put my career first, I can't help it but… Oh man, I haven’t been this tongue tied since I was at boy’s school and girls were an alien species.” I was still serving, going as slowly as I could.

“I like you, Mac, a lot, and we have fun together, don’t we?”

“We do,” I admitted. I could delay no longer and as I turned, I saw Tom leaning against the table, his legs crossed at the ankles.

He sat down as he saw me approaching with the plates and I offered him a tight smile as I set them down.

I sipped my wine but I knew I couldn’t delay any longer.

“I think you know I like you but I’m worried that I’ll… lose myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re… pretty much irresistible. If we do this, I… I’m in grave danger of having my heart broken.”

“And if we weren’t married?”

“I might risk it,” I agreed. “Every new relationship comes with that risk, but ours has an expiry date and that scares me.”

“But maybe that expiry date is a good thing,” he suggested. “Maybe knowing this is going to end will make us both more circumspect.”

“Maybe.” I knew it wouldn’t work for me, I would fall for him regardless, and I wasn’t foolish enough to think that I could be ‘the one’ who changes him from a commitment phobic workaholic, into a committed family man.

But I wanted him. Badly. So, _so_ badly.

I could resist anything, except temptation.

I knew I was going to regret this. “Okay, let’s give this a go.”

His answering smile belayed my fears for a moment and made my stomach tingle, but in a very good way. I was glad I’d worn the nice underwear.

“You won’t be sorry,” he assured me, raising his glass of wine. “To us.”

I clinked my glass with his.

“No, you have to say it,” he insisted.

“To us,” I reluctantly repeated, but I was smiling. Well, grinning actually.

Finally we tucked into our meal and Tom was effusive with his praise.

“You don’t have to butter me up, Tom, I’m pretty much a sure thing at this point.”

I was only teasing but he frowned at my remark. “I’m serious, you could have been a chef.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, my Mum liked to cook and she taught me.”

“Speaking of, what’s for desert?” he gave me a sexy smoulder.

“Sticky toffee pudding and custard or ice cream.”

“Oh, no question, it has to be custard.”

“I know, right? I love ice cream, but it’s just wrong on hot sponge.”

We shared a smile.

After the meal I put the pudding in the oven to reheat and we chatted until I was ready to serve.

“You’re not having much,” he noted.

“I’m still full.” He accepted my excuse without question.

Once we were finished he helped me load the dishwasher and as I was rinsing plates off, he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck.

“So, what do you want to do now?” he practically purred in his sexy voice. I relaxed into him; if I was going to have my heart broken, I was damn well going to make the most of it.

“How about an early night?”

“I was thinking more of a very late night,” he kissed my neck again. “You’ll be sore tomorrow, but I promise it will be worth every second.”

***

I awoke to Tom kissing my neck and as he promised, I was sore, but I was also happy.

“You’re insatiable,” I said with a smile.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, doll,” he said with an American drawl.

I laughed. “Why the accent?”

“To make you smile,” he answered. Smug git.

“So, what do you say I cook you one of my legendary English breakfasts?”

“Thanks but”

“Come on, you need to eat. If you’re worried about calories, I’ll help you work some off right now.”

He began kissing my neck again, slowly working his way south.

“Hmm,” I moaned. “You are far too tempting to be legal.”

I could feel his lips quirk up in a smile. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a ‘hell yes.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He climbed over me and taking his time, made love to me, leaving me breathless and panting.

***

“Want to go for a run later?” Tom asked as we ate his ‘legendary English breakfast’.

“Good idea. I’ll need it to work this off.”

“You don’t like it?”

“The problem is, I like it a little too much.” I grinned at him. I had zero selfcontrol and his cooking _was_ delicious, so I was going to have to work hard to work this off.

“That was lovely, thank you,” I kissed him once we had finished, then he went to get the post and newspaper, while I cleared up, then topped our tea pot up.

“Anything interesting?” I asked as he browsed the mail.

“I don’t think so.” He put two letters on my side of the table and sat down to open his own post.

One on mine was my mobile phone bill, noting unexpected, but the other was handwritten and I opened it to find a letter.

‘ _I’m not sure what your game is, but it won’t work. Tom has spoken often about his physicality so I know he could never love someone as fat and unhealthy as you. He works hard to stay fit and healthy, while you lie around eating all day, and you think a man like him could care for you?”_

_Fat people like you, are considered unattractive by society for good reason. A fat person has lost all semblance of humanity, and more closely resembles a hippo, an elephant, or a whale. How could you honestly expect society to find such monstrosities attractive?_

_Tom might be too kind to say ‘I find you to be repulsive, to your face, even though it is true, but instead they will talk about being healthy, when what they mean, is lose weight, you fat pig._

_Honestly though, I don’t care if you are unhealthy. Frankly, the faster you die off and vanish the better. At least when you are a corpse you’ll lose a whole bunch of weight._

_Fat people like you are gross. You hurt our eyes and our sensibilities. Lose some weight and come back out in public when people can look at you without having to restrain themselves from putting out their eyes_.

 _Until then, leave Tom alone_. _Having a whale like you around his neck is going to really damage his career and if you don’t do the right thing, there will be consequences. You haven’t heard the last of this._

 _RB_ ’

I tore it up and got up to throw it in the bin, blinking back tears.

“What was that?” Tom asked.

“Nothing, junk mail.” I said, keeping my back to him. “I’m going to get changed for a run.”

That was the second letter I’d received like that, probably from the same person, and while it hurt, I ignored the first one. This one was worse though.

I wiped under my eyes and as I went into my room to change into my running gear, Tom poked his head around the door.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” I smiled at him.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”

I nodded and continued dressing, then met Tom downstairs.

“How far do you want to go today?” I asked.

“Don’t you usually do five?”

“I’ve been upping it recently. I’m not sure I’m up to ten yet but maybe we could try eight.”

“Whatever you want,” he smiled at me. “Then we can reward ourselves by visiting the café around the corner later.”

“Uh, sure.”

***

I pushed myself harder than usual, wanting to run off the anger and yes, the pain that stupid letter had given me. I truly believe that only unhappy people seek to hurt others, but that sometimes wasn’t enough to brush off unkind comments.

I pushed myself so hard that we were unable to chat during the run but I felt as if I’d achieved something by the time we got home. We parted ways and I took my time in the shower, washing the sweat and the slightly tainted feeling that letter had left me with off. I then stayed in my room and dried my hair and out a little makeup on since we were going to the café later.

When I left the room, I could hear voices downstairs and I descended the stairs carefully, wondering what was being said.

“We get tons of hate mail for her,” I heard Luke say once I was close enough to the kitchen to hear them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s par for the course.”

“Any threatening like this?”

“Tom, you know how insane fans can get.”

“Have you reported them to the police?” Tom demanded. He sounded really angry.

“No! Look, this is nothing, it’ll all blow over and as soon as you two separate, she’ll go back to being a nobody and no one will give a fuck if she’s the size of a house.”

“Luke!”

“It’s true, Tom.”

“Can't you see this isn’t just a ordinary angry fan? She sent that letter here, Luke, to _my_ home address and even although you don’t give a shit about Mac, you should care that someone knows my address.”

There was a slight pause before Luke replied. “You’re right, we’ve taken great steps to keep your address private. I’ll file the letter with the police.”

“Give them the rest of the hate mail too.”

“We shredded it.”

“I don’t believe this.” I could picture Tom walking away, running a hand through his hair, as he did when frustrated. “Why aren’t you following your own protocol on this?”

“Because Mackenzie isn’t my client, Tom! Her post shouldn’t even be coming to me, let alone be up to me to file and sort.”

“Luke,” Tom’s voice wasn’t raised but I could hear the determination in it. “We’ve worked together for a long time and I even followed you when you set up your own firm but right now, you are this close to being fired.”

“What! Over her? Tom, are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding, and no, not over ‘her’. I’m close to firing you because I can't believe how callous and unprofessional you’re being. What is your problem with Mac?”

“I don’t have a problem with her, I have a problem with this whole fake marriage!”

“Which was your idea,” Tom reminded him.

“Only because she got you drunk enough to make you marry her! How many beers did it take to make her look attractive?”

“Luke… I think you’d better go.”

“Fine. I’ll take this to the police.”

I decided it was time to make my presence known and walked into the kitchen. Both men stopped talking immediately and neither seemed to know what to say to me.

“I told you that was junk,” I said to Tom, pointing at the letter and envelope that was now on the kitchen table.”

“I could tell it wasn’t,” Tom said, approaching me. “Have you received any others?”

I considered lying, but he had been standing up for me, and it seemed bad form to lie. I nodded.

“How many?”

“Just one. I threw that out too.”

“I’m sorry, darling.”

I shrugged. “It’s just some loser whose misery loves company. I’m sure she’s not dangerous.”

“She has our home address,” Tom argued.

I had to admit, I hadn’t noticed that until Tom pointed it out to Luke, it hadn’t even occurred to me that his address was private, but of course it was. She must be a stalker of some description, but most of them turned out to be harmless.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop the shiver of fear that ran down my spine.

“Tom, you’re making a big deal over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, and at the very least, we need to start documenting this.”

“She didn’t even sign it, we have no clue who she is.”

“But the paper is distinctive, as is her handwriting, and it’s likely that she’s written to me before, so we can find her that way.”

“Tom, that’s a huge amount of work!”

“And someone is threatening you,”

“She didn’t threaten me, she just insulted me.”

Tom reached for the letter and read from it. “ _‘If you don’t do the right thing, there will be consequences. You haven’t heard the last of this’_. That sounds like a threat to me.”

“It’s just bluster and bravado.”

“Look,” Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re right and this will amount to nothing but we have a procedure to follow, just in case.”

“Luke doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Luke is still mad at me for marrying you.”

“Really? Because it seems like he’s mad at me.”

Luke stepped forward. “I’m not”

“If nothing comes of this, then we’ll be no worse off,” Tom cut him off. “But if she does turn threatening, we’ll have a head start. I just want to make sure you’re safe, you get that, right?” He closed the space between us and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Please. I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

He was using that puppydog expression again, his eyes pleading with me. How was I supposed to say no to that face?

“All right, fine.” No one said I had to give in gracefully.

“Thank you,” he kissed me, on the lips this time, and I heard Luke cough.

When we broke away, Luke could hold his tongue no longer.

“So you’re a real couple now?” he asked. “Seriously?”

Tom’s jaw clenched as he closed his eyes and if I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to hold his temper in check. I’d never seen him angry before but I had to admit, it was kind of sexy. I’m sure I wouldn’t feel the same if it was aimed at me, but as long as Luke was the target of his anger, I was free to enjoy it.

His face was still just inches from mine and with his eyes closed, I was free to study him. He was classically beautiful, really, with features as perfect as a Greek statue, but he hadn’t shaved this morning and the layer of stubble lent a roughness to his polished looks.

God, he was so sexy, it hurt.

He turned away as he opened his eyes and levelled a glare at Luke. “I think you need to leave.”

Luke huffed but seemed to realise he was getting a little close to the line and with a shake of his head, as though he couldn’t believe Tom’s stupidity, he headed towards the door.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tom asked, holding the letter he held up.

Luke snatched it from his grasp. “I’ll be in touch.”

A few seconds later, the front door slammed shut and I breathed freely once more.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked me.

I stepped back as his proximity was making it hard to think clearly.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Tom, just drop it, please.”

He didn’t reply and I tried to cover the awkwardness with a smile and carry on as if everything was normal.

“I’m going to check my emails,” I told him.

“Yeah, I should too. You want to go to the café after that?”

Was torn between wanting the comfort of their chocolate cake, and wanting to avoid the calories, especially after Tom’s cooked breakfast.

Maybe I could add another few miles to my run, work up to 10 or 12 day or something.

“Sure,” I smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Four days later I received my first rejection letter. Tom was out, shooting an advert for some designer brand or other, so I was alone when I read it.

It was a form letter so there was nothing personal in the rejection, no insult to my writing or me, except that they didn’t want me.

I tried not to take it personally but I felt awful, so I did the only thing that made me feel better recently, I went for a run.

When I got home I forewent my usual yoga cool down and did press ups and sit ups.

I couldn’t say I felt better by the end but I did feel more in control.

The next few weeks were all about maintaining control. I was careful about what I ate, I exercised daily, pushing myself as hard as I could. I was often tired and it wasn’t unusual for me to sleep for almost nine hours a day, which I put down to the extra running and exercise.

I liked sleeping, actually, because it was the only time when I wasn’t hungry and actively resisting the tempting food around me. It was the only time of day that I could relax, even if I did have to be unconscious for it.

I was spending most of my nights in Tom’s bed now, but my clothes and personal effects remained in my room, across the hall. Oddly though, sex with Tom was becoming less and less enjoyable. It’s not that he was getting worse, it was more that I was feeling self-conscious and unable to relax enough to let myself go.

I was losing weight and although it was nothing too drastic yet, I worried that Tom would notice. I was able to hide it by buying some of those silicone chicken fillets from Amazon to pad by bra and when that wasn’t enough, I returned to the lingerie shop and bought the same sets he had purchased for me, but in a smaller size. Since I was still losing weight, I also bought another size down from that.

I was quite pleased with my efforts to lose weight, except that I still seemed to be quite bulky. My arms, while they were slimming down slightly, were becoming very muscular, which wasn’t the look I was going for.

Mostly I avoided looking at myself because… well because this whole weight loss thing was fucked up, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I was happy being larger, and it’s not like I was the size of a house or anything. All I wanted was to be left alone though, and right now, being thin seemed the best way to achieve that.

I tried not to look at the gossip sites daily but I couldn’t help but see some of what they were saying.

A few noticed the weight loss and commented positively. Others just found new reasons to hate me. The positive articles pleased me though; I felt as if I was becoming worthy of Tom and their approval only backed that up.

When I allowed myself, I realised how fucked up it was to base my worthiness on my weight, because obviously what was in my head and heart were far more important, but as my first rejection letter found a companion, then another, and another, I started to doubt that what was in my head was worthy of Tom.

I noticed him watching me sometimes and I knew he must have noticed my weight loss, but he never said anything. Sometimes when we went out he would ask if I wanted dessert and occasionally try to convince me, but that was the only thing he said. Sometimes he had that look in his eyes though, which I took to mean ‘I’m on to you’.

Did he know I was seriously dieting?

I did my best to hide my neurosis from him. I still baked for example, but each day I would take a muffin or slice of cake, and after wrapping it in kitchen towel, throw it away. Every now and then I ate something sweet in front of him, to allay any fears he might have, but I always worked out harder the next day to make up for it.

The three month wait on replies from publishers came and went with no offers. Not even a nibble of interest.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure which was worse, being sent a rejection, or just being ignored.

I was still reading voraciously, mostly thrillers still but anything gripping that could grab my attention and distract me from my life would do. I’d worked my way through Tom’s thrillers and had starting ordering more from Amazon.

I had asked him if I should have them delivered to a PO box but since it wasn’t his name on the packages, Tom had no problem with my things being delivered here.

Tom was halfway through filming a movie with Guy Ritchie, which was filmed mostly locally, although he did have to go away for a couple of weeks.

I was glad to be alone actually, life was easier without having to worry about what Tom might think of my actions and of course, I didn’t have to worry about him seeing me naked if he wasn’t in the house. Plus, I was free to eat as much or as little as I wanted while he was away, without fear of judgement. I ate tons of salad, cutting out almost all carbs and most fats. Every time I felt hungry I nibbled on carrot sticks (eugh) or I made myself a hot drink.

I was doing my best not to feel sorry for myself yet at the same time, I knew I was wallowing. Most people would kill for the chance to write for a year, yet I hadn’t written a word since I finished my rejected manuscript.

I knew I should lessen the reading and up the writing and although it took all my willpower, the second week Tom was away, I sat down and forced myself to go through my writing file. I couldn’t find anything there that I wanted to work on, so I printed off a hard copy of my manuscript, intending to read it with fresh eyes.

I couldn’t face it though, it felt like a reminder of my failure, so I opened a blank word document and stared at it.

Maybe I needed to write the kinds of stories that had been distracting me. Something unbelievable, filled with action and explosions. It wasn’t my preferred style but maybe it could act as a palate cleanser or something.

I did have an idea kicking around in my head, for a thriller with a kick ass female lead who has to protect a geeky, exceptionally intelligent, male whistle-blower from his bosses, basically turning the usual thriller tropes on their head.

I began writing and surprisingly, the words came easily, flowing out of me in a stream so that sometimes, I could hardly type fast enough. I worked into the evenings each day since, without Tom around, I didn’t have much to do then, anyway. I still ran each day but I was so eager to get back to my book that I was back to only doing five or six miles a day, which took about an hour (including a quick shower).

When Tom got home that weekend I felt better than I had in a while, until I saw him look me up and down, frown slightly, then cover it with a smile. Clearly he found my new figure wanting but was that because I was too big, or too small? Had I put on weight while he was away? I hadn’t eaten much but I had reduced my exercise.

My happiness crumpled and I declined his offer to go out that evening, and every offer he made that weekend. We did go running each morning but in the evenings I preferred to work on my novel. I was my kick-ass heroine, you see and while she wasn’t perfect, she had no doubts, no fears, she didn’t care what people said about her, rather she oozed confidence. I wished I could be like her.

I was so snippy that weekend that I think Tom was glad to go back to work on Monday. He was filming at a London studio again, so he’d be home every night but his days could be very long and I doubted we’d see that much of each other.

I finished my thriller 9 days after I started and printed out a copy to proof, then I bit the bullet and phoned Jilly, a former colleague of mine.

We were work friends but we lived some distance away, so we hardly ever saw each other outside of the office. Given the time off I’d taken recently, we hadn’t seen a lot of each other inside work in the past year but I still thought she’d help me, and I respected her opinion.

I couldn’t bring myself to read the manuscript that had been rejected, but Jilly was an editor and she knew how to extract the literary wheat from the chaff.

She was quite busy but seemed pleased to hear from me, and we arranged to meet the following week for lunch.

I turned my attention back to my old manuscripts but I felt as though I couldn’t do anything with them until I knew why the Eleanor of Aquitaine story had gone wrong. I considered writing another thriller but while I had enjoyed the experience, I felt it would be indulgent to write another one just for fun, although I did jot down a few plot outlines that occurred to me.

I began reading again and I upped my running back to ten miles a day.

I’d dropped quite a few pounds and I was really starting to look trim now, but it meant that most of my clothes didn’t fit well any more so before my lunch date, I popped into town for some new clothes.

It felt good to be able to spend without worry but I wasn’t going crazy, and I refused to use Tom’s credit card; the allowance he’d given me was more than ample for my expenses.

It felt strange to go into some of the high fashion shops to buy clothes; because they only went up to a

UK size 14 or US size 18, they’d been off limits to me. I tried the size 14s first but they were too big! I was a size 12 now, almost a 10. I bought a couple of outfits in a 12, and some others I liked in a 10, figuring I’d soon slim down into them.

I found a beautiful dress that would be perfect for Christmas, which was only a month away, and I bought it in a size 8. After Christmas the awards season would begin in earnest, and I needed to look good on Tom’s arm, so I was determined to slim down as much as I could before then.

I would need some designer outfits for the red carpets, but it was probably better to wait until closer since I didn’t know what size I’d be by then.

***

Jilly and I arranged to have lunch in a pub near our offices, well, her offices now. I dressed in one of my new outfits and was gratified when Jilly’s eyes widened when she saw me.

She got up from the table and gave me a hug by way of greeting.

“You look amazing,” she said as we sat down.

“Thanks,” I smiled, but I couldn’t help wondering when looking amazing was going to change into feeling amazing.

“So what’s it like, being married to a Hollywood actor?”

It was like a lie, but I didn’t say that, obviously. Instead I spun her some tale about early days and missing Tom when he worked away and anything that sounded vaguely plausible.

I could have told her the truth, that I was a miserable failure, but I was doing my best to hide that fact from everyone.

We ordered when the waitress asked; I had the tuna salad and she had the sausage and mash. I eyed hers enviously as we ate.

“So how’s the writing going?” Jilly asked, and that led neatly into why I was here.

“I finished a manuscript,” I said, a fake smile plastered on my lips, “But it got rejected by everyone I sent it to.” I shrugged as if to say ‘c’est la vie’.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” she looked pained.

“That’s kind of why I asked you to lunch, actually. I know you’re busy but you are the best editor I know, and I wondered if you would cast your eye over a few pages and maybe see if you can find out where I went wrong?”

“Things are hellishly busy right now,” she lamented. The run up to Christmas was always busy in the publishing trade. With everyone trying to generate as much publicity as they could for their books and authors, everyone was roped into helping with the launch parties, leaving reviews on book sites, convincing bloggers to read and review, and a hundred and one other small but necessary jobs.

I knew that things should quiet down a week or two before the holidays though.

“If you send it to my home email address, I should have time to give it a look over Christmas week. I can’t promise to read it all but I’ll do what I can, should be able to give you enough pointers to continue on your own.”

“Don’t you have family visiting?” I asked, moving some tune under a Lettice leaf so Jilly that didn’t notice I wasn’t eating it.

“Ugh!” Jilly rolled her eyes. “My sister and her brats, but they’re literally only staying two or three nights this year. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll at least get the first three chapters done.”

“Thank you so much.” Publishers asked only for the first three chapters in enquiry letters, so they were the most important.

She asked me about my Christmas plans and I confided that I was spending it with Tom’s family.

“You’re not going to your aunt?” Jilly seemed surprised, and why shouldn’t she? For as long as I could remember, my mother and aunt had alternated hosting Christmas day and this year was Aunt Anna’s turn.

Just the thought of sitting at her table, with everything the same, except for my Mum being missing, turned my stomach.

I think Anna understood my reasoning even if she did seem hurt.

Meeting Tom’s family was going to be excruciating, especially since they knew the truth, that our marriage was a sham, but even that was preferable to constant reminders that Mum was gone.

I moved the conversation on before I became too maudlin and she filled me in on all the work gossip I’d missed. As I laughed along with one of her stories, I suddenly realised how isolated I'd become. I hardly saw anyone these days. I didn’t even stop into the café unless Tom pestered me, because their cake was more tempting than my willpower was strong.

I bought Jilly’s lunch as a thank you, and promised her another one in the new year, somewhere ‘nicer’ which was code for somewhere that only Tom’s name could get us into.

As we left the pub, we hugged and I wished her a Merry Christmas before we went our separate ways.

I headed for the tube station but I wasn’t ready to sit alone in Tom’s house for the rest of the afternoon, so I bypassed it and pretended to do some Christmas shopping. I looked in lots of windows but I wasn’t registering anything I saw.

I actually felt bad for feeling bad, but I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of my funk.

I’d literally been handed a golden opportunity, one year to write, then a divorce settlement large enough that if I was careful and invested wisely, meant I wouldn’t ever have to work again.

It seemed petty in the extreme to complain about missing my job but it wasn’t just the job I missed, it was the social atmosphere. I like people, I like talking to them and hearing their stories and just being around other people.

Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a writer. It wasn’t just my feelings telling me that, over 20 publishing houses had rejected me too. Sometimes you just have to take the hint.

Maybe when this year was up, I could get my old job back, go back to copy editing.

I wished I had someone to talk to about this stuff.

I had a sudden pang of grief and walking down the cold street, I wiped away a tear, suddenly missing my mother more than I had in a long while.

I felt lost right now, and she had always been my anchor.

By the time I got home, Tom was there.

“Hi,” he called from the kitchen.

“Hey,” I replied.

“Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Uh, tea, please. Be there in a sec.”

I rushed up the stairs to my room so I could repair my makeup before he noticed I’d been crying.

“You’re home early,” I said as I breezed into the kitchen.

“I told you yesterday that today was a half day, didn’t I?”

Had he?

“Do you want a muffin?” he said, plucking one from the cake tin as he spoke.

“No, thanks, I’m still full from lunch.”

Tom gave me a long, evaluating look.

“Mac, I don’t mean to pry, but are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I smiled.

He didn’t believe me. I obviously wasn’t as good an actor as he was.

“I’m just a bit upset that no one wanted my book,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry, Love,” he smiled as he put his mug down and pulled me into a hug.

I allowed him to hold me and inhaled deeply. I love Tom’s scent and ever since the night we met, have found it relaxing. It’s some combination of his cologne and him and I liked it so much that if it wasn’t so stalkerish, I’d consider wearing his worn clothes while he was out.

Unfortunately that relaxation meant that my guard dropped and I felt tears pricking my eyes, so I hastily stepped away and turned towards my mug of tea.

“I’ve got nothing to do tonight, tomorrow’s a fight scene and I have exactly one line, so let’s have a vegging night,” Tom said. “I must have a dozen movies in the planner-”

“More like 30,” I smiled.

“Plenty of choice then, so let’s watch a couple, order some Indian and just take it easy.”

That sounded wonderful, except for the take away.

“Or pizza, Chinese, fish and chips, whatever you want.”

“You know I’m trying to eat healthily,” I snapped, rather more harshly than was warranted.

I felt guilty for snapping at him, so I took my tea and got out of there. I know, you’d think I’d apologise, but apparently being miserable makes me a bitch.

Tom came up behind me and stopped me by wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Hey!” I called as my tea nearly slopped out of the cup.

Tom ignored my protest and tightened his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he told me in that smooth as silk voice of his. “I shouldn’t have suggested a takeaway, I know you’re dieting.”

So he had realised. Did he know I was throwing the muffins and cakes out rather than eating them? I’d be mortified if he did.

“How about if I grill us some Cajun chicken. I’ll do vegetables and potatoes for me, and make a salad for you.

“You don’t have to go to that trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured me.

He’d been working all morning while I’d been swanning around having lunch with friends.

I didn’t deserve him and now I really felt like a bitch for being mean to him. This right here was what I fell in love with. Unfortunately, while I appreciated his actions, they just didn’t penetrate the numbness my depression caused.

He began kissing my neck then, which was a very effective distraction from the direction my thoughts were taking.

I closed my eyes and found myself relaxing into him, sighing under his delicious ministrations.

“I’m pretty sure this is too good to be legal,” I mumbled.

He chuckled and slowed his actions.

“You know tonight, I’m having a clothing sale. 100 percent off.”

I burst out laughing as he released me. “Now I know a pick up line that bad is illegal.”

He pretended to pout.

“Come on, playa, let’s go pick a movie.”

He followed with that hang dog expression of his.

“If I let you pick the movie, will you stop it with the puppy dog eyes?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

I shook my head in exasperation but there was no denying that this man was good for my mood. If I could just get over myself, I was sure that I’d be fantastically happy to be with Tom… if the marriage were actually real, of course.

That thought dimmed my mood a little but I enjoyed the movies. We cuddled for most of the evening and for a change, I actually felt like making love that night, although I did make sure I turned the lights off before anything happened.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The rest of December followed a similar pattern, but with added obsessing over what to get Tom and his family for Christmas. I felt as though, if I only could buy the perfect presents, Christmas wouldn’t be as awkward as it promised to be.

I badgered Tom for details about his family, perused his family photos and generally got as much information as possible.

Then came the days wandering shops and browsing the internet, hoping to find something that matched with what I had learned.

I’d done the best I could, and Tom agreed that my presents were good, but I was still nervous.

Christmas was spent at his Mum’s cottage in East Anglia, with me and Tom obviously, and Tom’s sister and her fiancé. We were all supposed to stay with her but when I first saw the house, I was sure that would mean staying in cupboards and sleeping bags on the dining room floor, but the cottage was surprisingly TARDIS like and all three of its bedrooms were a decent size.

Tom and I had to share, obviously, but Tom told me he had explained that we were a couple, even if our marriage wasn’t real.

Tom’s sister hadn’t arrived when we got there but his Mum was waiting on the front step as we grabbed out bags. She greeted Tom with a big hug and kiss to his cheek, then as Tom introduced us she gave me a huge smile and pulled me into a hug too.

I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t warmth and hugs.

“So nice to meet you,” she said as she pulled away. “Well, you’ve had a long drive so I’ll let Tom show you to your room while I put the kettle on. Just come down when you’re ready.”

Tom was looking expectantly at me as his mum made her way back inside, but I wasn’t about to jinx anything by saying how lovely she seemed.

The room, while it had a fair square footage, was on the top floor of the cottage and being an old house, the roof was slanted, meaning poor Tom had to do a fair bit of ducking at the edges of the room. So did I, actually, but Tom was even worse. We both had a couple of new bumps by the time we had unpacked but nothing serious.

“So, what do you think?” Tom asked as he hung our clothes in the wardrobe.

By some unspoken agreement, we seemed to have decided that I would take the drawers while Tom did the wardrobe.

“The house is lovely,” I told him, gazing out of the window into the walled garden at the rear.

“And about Mum?” he pressed.

Great, he was going to force me to jinx myself.

“She seems very nice.”

Tom looked a little hurt by my lukewarm assessment so I rushed on.

“I mean, we’ve only exchanged one sentence but… I’m sure I’ll love her.”

He smiled, pleased with my assessment. I wasn’t lying, I hoped that was the case, but I was far from certain it would be. Aside from Zach, Toms friend, no one else had been happy about our marriage.

We unpacked, which took quite a while as we were here for 10 days, then we headed downstairs to properly meet his mum. She must have heard us coming as she had a pot of tea ready and plate of cupcakes.

Of course she offered me one and I accepted with a gigantic faux smile plastered on my face. I would have liked to refuse but I wanted this woman to like me, so instead I peeled the paper wrapper off and broke off small pieces, eating them as slowly as I dared without being rude.

“These are bloody lovely,” I said honestly, because they were.

It was just humanity’s bad luck that the nicest tasting stuff was usually the most fattening.

After the pleasantries were out of the way and Diana had chatted a little to Tom, she turned her attention to me. I gulped down my mouthful of cupcake, grateful it hadn’t been larger since my mouth was now as dry as the Sahara. I still had half the cake left, but if she noticed she was kind enough not to say anything.

“So, how’s the book coming?”

She would ask the most dreaded question. I knew she didn’t mean any harm but it still irked me; of course, that was because of my failings, not hers.

“Okay,” I said, trying to appear happy. “My first draft was rejected but an editor friend is looking over it, so fingers crossed that there’s something salvageable. I also tried writing a thriller. I haven’t had the guts to re-read it yet, but I brought a printed copy to edit while I’m here.”

I don’t know why I added that last bit, the thriller was my guilty pleasure, but it sounded better to have finished two books than just one rejected one.

“So you haven’t submitted that one yet then?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t know that I will. I’ll be better able to decide after I’ve re-read it, I suppose.”

She nodded her understanding and the conversation moved away from me and on to more general topics.

I liked Diana a lot, she was warm and I’m actually a very sociable person, so I enjoy meeting new people. That wasn’t enough for me to actually have fun though. The numbness I’d been feeling recently was clouding all my emotions, even the pleasant ones.

When Diana mentioned that she’d been unable to reach one of her Christmas boxes, Tom excused himself to fetch it for her and I helped Diana clean up.

“Thank you so much for doing this for him,” she said as she rinsed the teapot out.

I wasn’t sure what she meant; coming to Christmas?

“Not many people would give up a year of their lives to help someone else,” she explained.

“Well it’s not totally selfless,” I reminded her. “Your son made me an offer too good to refuse.”

“Yes, but I know the things Tom has to endure as part of his job, the lack of privacy and such, and I dare say you have to endure some of that now, too.”

Yes, I hadn’t realised how bad that was going to be.

“I’m trying to stay away from the gossip sites,” I said, trying to sound chipper. “My facebook is totally private and I keep my twitter replies to people I follow only, so I miss most of it these days.”

“Still, it must be hard.”

She was so friendly that I was tempted to tell her everything but I knew once I did, the tenuous self-control I had would shatter.

“And you don’t mind being left alone all day while Tom works?”

“I don’t mind Tom going away but I do miss work, just having people around me.”

Diana nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, your own company soon gets old, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I agreed. It hadn’t been too bad when I went to the café each day because it’s not necessarily about interacting with people, it’s just about being with people, being a part of life.

She was getting very close to touchy subjects now though, so I asked where the bathroom was and excused myself.

Tom’s sister, Emma arrived that evening, and she was just as friendly as her mother. Luckily she didn’t ask me anything about the marriage, but she did tease Tom with comments such as, “You couldn’t bear for your little sister to get married before you!”

Dinner was a help yourself affair, where we all served ourselves from dishes in the middle. I was glad because it meant I could take only small portions, but I heaped the carrots, parsnips and sprouts, so it looked like I had a lot.

Like her son, Diana was an excellent cook. I’d kind of been hoping she was awful, because then it would be easier not to eat much on Christmas day, but luck wasn’t with me.

Tom told her about my baking and she made me promise to bake muffins and a carrot cake while I was here. I wasn’t too mad about that, I cooked once or twice a week at home to try and allay Tom’s suspicions about my eating, but I had been hoping for a break. Nonetheless, I was staying in this woman’s home and to refuse would have been churlish.

By the time we went to bed, I was feeling very tired, but that wasn’t unusual these days. Tom tried kissing me and I don’t know if he was hoping for something more or not, but I told him I was tired and he let me be.

Despite normally sleeping poorly in a new bed, I was asleep just minutes later.

***

I went for a run the next morning, but I just had to guess how far I’d gone. I ended up running lengths on the main street, back and forth, since it was the only part that had pavements to run on. Tom promised to show me his route, he didn’t want to get out of shape after all, but he wanted a day off.

After a quick shower, I took my thriller manuscript and settled on the sofa with a clipboard to start proofing it. I did have my laptop with me but I actually like the process of having paper and a red pen.

Tom’s family pottered around, catching up with each other but after lunch I was roped into going into the village with Diana and Emma for some last minute Christmas shopping. Being the day before Christmas Eve I was expecting the trip to be hellish but it although busy, the village wasn’t huge and the parade of shops wasn’t too thronged with shoppers.

We’d come primarily for her meat order from the local butcher but as well as turkey, bacon and sausages, she’d ordered sausage rolls, pork pies and (oddly for a butcher) mince pies. We carried a ton of food back to the car, then we visited the bakery for the Christmas cake, and of course, (what felt like) 101 other tasty treats.

This was my idea of hell.

Finally, once they seemed to have purchased half the food supply in East Anglia, they were done torturing me and we browsed some of the other shops, then Emma suggested we pop into a little tea shop for cake.

Did this family do anything besides eat?

The tea shop was the kind that dreams are made of, filled with delicious smells and cakes that looked so good they were practically works of art.

I had a pot of Earl Grey (it’s weaker and needs less milk) and since they brushed off my attempts to refuse a treat with, “You can’t diet at Christmas,” I ended up ordering a chocolate chip cookie. That might not seem so bad until you realise it was the size of a side plate.

It was also gooey and delicious. I picked at it while I drank my tea and the others chatted.

They prompted me to eat up a few times and when they weren’t looking, I slipped some of the cookie into my bag.

Mercifully we returned home after that. I thanked them for the trip and the boys came out to help us in with all the food, and Tom had a kiss and a huge smile for me.

“Have fun?” he asked as he reached into the boot and pulled the huge turkey out.

“Yeah,” I grinned. My smile felt false and brittle to me but I hoped the others bought it.

I returned to my manuscript after that, which had been moved to the coffee table in my absence. I worried that someone had read it, but why would they? It would be extremely conceited to think that someone wanted to read the book of a failed writer. Surely that was why my other book was turned down, because no one wanted to read it.

I settled on the couch to continue. It was a good distraction from my hunger and I worked studiously, covering the manuscript in red scribbles. To be honest though, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. I expected it to be sensationalist junk but after a few weeks break, I was really getting into it again and okay, it was no Oscar Wilde or Jane Austen, but it was entertaining. I might even say ‘thrilling’, if I had more confidence.

I paused at about halfway through the book and I decided to have a shower before dinner but when I came back downstairs, I heard Tom say my name. I crept closer to the kitchen and eavesdropped on him and his mother.

“I’m just worried about her, she’s clearly struggling with her self-image.”

“I know,” Tom sighed. “The gossip sites really went to town on her after we married.”

“I can understand why she’d want to want to lose weight but she’s slipping food into her purse. That’s not normal.”

“I know, Mum. She does it back home, puts cake in the bin, thinking I won’t notice.”

“You need to talk to her, make her see she was fine how she was.”

“I’ve tried,” Tom assured her. “But she’s closed off. To be fair, she’s had other stresses, she’s still grieving, she got a stalker sending poison pen letters a while ago, Luke has taken totally against her, and her book was rejected too... She’s in a bad place.”

“Why doesn’t Luke like her? He’s usually a sweetheart.”

“He can be, but he’s also a shrewd businessman.”

“That doesn’t explain why he doesn’t like her.”

“He’s worried she’s using me.”

“Is she?” Diana asked.

“No, she wanted the annulment, I had to talk her into this.”

“But she won’t talk to you, you say?”

“I’ve offered but why would she? We’re not really married, Mum, this is just a convenient arrangement.”

“Still, you have a duty of care, Thomas, especially if you talked her into this.”

“You think I don’t know that this is my fault?”

I’d heard enough and I was seconds away from sobbing, so I turned and ran back upstairs. Tears were streaming down my face by the time I reached our room and I tried to lock the door behind me, but there was no lock and nothing I could easily use to block it.

I just had to hope Tom didn’t come up.

I went to the full length mirror and wondered why I was doing this.

I looked good. Really good… but by other people’s standards.

This wasn’t me. I undressed and looked at myself, really looked, for the first time in months.

Without my padded, push-up bra and chicken fillets, my breasts just sort of hung there, limp bags of flesh. I’d completed a body fat test the other week and I was at 11%, most of my weight being muscle now. A healthy woman needs about 20% fat, I’d probably had a lot more than that and with breasts being mostly fat, it was really no wonder they had shrivelled up.

In addition, my hips hardly flared at all now, my legs were still curvy but that was with muscle, which bulged, rather than fat which was soft and rounded. My stomach now had its first ever six-pack and my arms were muscular.

Slowly I raised my gaze to my face but I was so ashamed that I couldn’t look myself in the eye.

My makeup was history though, I’d cried it into black streaks down each cheek.

Why was I doing this to myself? Why was I starving myself, hiding food and lying to people, just to achieve a look I didn’t like?

Someone tapped on the door and I desperately swiped at my eyes, swallowing so that I wouldn’t sound choked up when I replied.

“I’m naked.”

“It’s Tom,” he replied, who had seen me naked quite often.

“I’ll be down soon.” My tears were slowing but far from stopping. I knew he could hear the tears in my voice.

“I’m coming in.”

“NO!” The door handle began to turn though, so I snatched up a dressing down and held it in front of me.

“Oh, darling,” he said, closing the door after himself. He came towards me, his arms outstretched and wrapped me in an embrace. “It’s all right,” he assured me. “Let it out.”

I cried harder and after a few moments, I wrapped my arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” I snivelled. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do. I’ve been horrible to you recently. And you gave me this fantastic chance and all I’ve done is waste it. I’m not a writer, that was clearly a pathetic dream. I’m not a good wife. I’ve tried so hard to be what people expect me to be and I think I finally look the part but people still hate me, I’m still not good enough for you! I’ve never been more unhappy.”

I began to cry in earnest them but it felt good to finally say those words, to admit to myself that I was miserable.

“Ssh,” he crooned, his hands stroking up and down my back. “It’s okay, love,

We stood there until my tears slowed, then Tom guided me towards the bed and flinging back the covers, he urged me onto it. I’d dropped the dressing gown at some point so I was pleased to crawl under the covers.

To my surprise, Tom climbed in the other side and reached out for my hand.

“Don’t you need to get changed before bed,” I teased.

“It’s a bit early for bed,” he smiled. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“Other than that?”

“Just tired. Too tired to feel much of anything right now.”

“Maybe after Christmas, you should talk to the GP,” he suggested.

I nodded. Maybe some anti-depressants would help.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, squeezing my hand.

“None of this is your fault.”

“You wouldn’t be facing these pressures if not for me.”

“You didn’t tell me to lose weight,” I told him.

“No, but being in the public eye is the reason people are scrutinising you.”

“Okay,” I couldn’t deny that, “but it’s isn’t your fault I’m a bad writer.”

“You’re not a bad writer,” he told me.

“How would you know?” I’d never let him read anything.

“I took a look at your manuscript while you were out,” he confessed.

I turned bright red and pulled the quilt up over my head.

“It was good,” Tom told me, burrowing under the covers, trying to find me.

“You don’t need to placate me,” I said but it was rather muffled.

“I’m n-” He found me so although it was dark under the covers, I covered my face with my hands. “I’m not,” he assured me. “I really enjoyed it. I’d have carried on reading if you hadn’t come home.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not, I really like it. In fact I was going to talk to you about the possibility of optioning the rights.”

I pulled the covers off my head and sat up.

“Stop placating me!”

“I’m not!” he replied, just as forcefully. “I know the manuscript isn’t perfect but the characters are well drawn, the plot drew me in from the start and the pacing seems really good. Granted, I can’t speak towards the resolution, but I have no reason not to presume it’s going to be as engaging as the rest.”

“Even if I did believe that, one, you’re not an editor,” although to be fair, I did respect his opinion.

“And two, why would you option the rights to anything? You’re an actor, not a director.”

“True, but I do own a production company and I want to look into doing more behind the camera. Besides, just because I option it, doesn’t mean it’ll get made, only that I have the right to make it for a certain amount of time.”

I scrutinised him, as if looking closely enough meant I would be able to detect any lies. I could read nothing but sincerity in his features though.

“You really like it?”

He smiled. “I really do. I’m sure once you’ve edited it, it’ll be even better; I tended to try and ignore the red and just read the original.”

I actually chuckled at that, because some pages were so covered in red pen that they looked like a bloody crime scene.

“As for your diet, darling, you know I thought you were attractive before so if you want to lose weight, I won’t tell you no, it’s not my place, but please don’t do it for me. And please be sensible about it, I know that some days you seem to eat nothing but lettuce.”

A slight exaggeration but not too far from the truth.

“If I’m honest though, I don’t think the diet is a reflection of your unhappiness with your figure is it? It’s a reaction to the other stresses you’ve been facing.”

For a man, he was rather insightful.

I nodded my agreement. “There isn’t a lot in my control right now, I guess I thought controlling that could help fix the things that weren’t going my way.”

“I think I understand,” Tom reached out and took my hand. “Perhaps therapy can help you find better ways to cope.”

“Maybe,” I hedged, unwilling to commit to therapy. I’d tried it at university and it just seemed rather pointless to me. I think perhaps I just needed a kick up the arse, and someone to talk things out with. Mum had always been a thousand times better than any therapist but with her gone, maybe it would be good to find someone I could safely vent to.

I wiped under my eyes, ready to get rid of my smudged mascara and look like a human being again.

“Did you really think I was pretty when we first met?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? I thought you were bloody gorgeous! And I liked it enough to marry you at that size, didn’t I?”

“And now?” I asked seriously. “What do you think of how I look now?”

He looked worried. “What do you expect me to say?”

“Back my opinion up… or tell me that I’m wrong. I hope the former but as long as it’s the truth....” I shrugged, unsure what else to say.

“What I think shouldn’t matter,” he said very seriously, then I saw a flicker of humour in his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss those breasts though.” He looked down to where I was holding the quilt to protect my modesty.

“Well judging by the amount of delicious food your mum bought today, I’d say they’ll be back by the New Year,” I joked.

Tom laughed. I joined in, then suddenly it wasn’t just laughter but hysterics, both of us laughing for the sake of laughing and unable to stop.

My sides began to hurt and my laughter began to tail off, then Tom tickled me.

We ended up laughing and wrestling around on the bed, until our sides were killing us, then we moved onto more sensual pleasures.

“Thank you,” I said afterwards, as we lay in the post coital bliss. My head was on his shoulder and one arm rested on his chest, playing with one of his nipples.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been thanked for sex before,” he chuckled.

I raised my head and swatted his chest. “I meant for what happened before the sex, for listening to me. I feel better than I have done for months. And thanks for not holding my moods recently against me.”

Tom stretched forward and kissed me quickly.

“It’s good to have you back, Mac.”

I considered his words. “It’s good to be back.” I smiled. “And I’m dying to properly enjoy your mum’s food!”

“Speaking of, we should probably get dressed and go down, mum’s probably timed the meal for half eight.”

***

There was laughter coming from the living room as we came down and I realised that I was feeling a range of emotions. I was embarrassed that they knew I’d been hiding food and were talking about me behind by back, but I was pleased to hear them laughing. I was also looking forward to eating, awell as drinking more than a few sips of wine.

I realised that I’d been removed from my emotions for a while now, gradually getting worse and worse until I was almost emotionally numb. My little mini breakdown upstairs seemed to have opened the floodgates and although I was nervous and embarrassed about facing these people, I had missed my emotions, even the bad ones.

I was still going to see the GP and a therapist, as Tom suggested, because this had basically crept up on me in increments and at the time I hadn’t noticed. I didn’t want that to happen again. Tom had been a great sounding board this time but as he had told his mother, this marriage wasn’t for real. He might feel responsible for me but he wasn’t, I had to look after myself and it was unfair of me to burden Tom too much.

Besides, our relationship had an expiration date and I didn’t want to waste the second half of it, the same way I had wasted the first.

“You okay?” Tom asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

I nodded and we headed into the living room.

“There they are,” Dianna smiled. “We wondered where you got to.”

“We didn’t.” Emma teased. “We knew exactly what you were doing. Old house, thin walls and all that.”

I blushed but Tom was evidently used to this.

“I know, I had the room next to yours growing up, remember?”

Emma fiancé, Richard got up from his chair. “Wine?” he asked. “We’ve got red and white open.”

“Thanks, red for me, please.”

“Same here,” Tom agreed.

I sat on the two seater sofa and Tom perched on the arm, and I appreciated his protective instinct.

“Are you feeling better?” Dianna asked.

“I am, thank you, and I want to apologise for my odd behaviour since I got here. I’ve been going through a… rough time and… it messed me up for a while.”

“We’re sorry for what you’ve been through,” Emma said.

“We are,” Dianna agreed as Richard returned and handed us our drinks.

I knew I had to mention the thing I was ashamed about, or it would just hang over my head all Christmas, like the Sword of Damocles, ready to fall into the conversation at the least opportune moment.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I won’t be hiding any more cookies or throwing any food in the bin. I’m actually looking forward to all that food we picked up earlier.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dianna smiled.

I really enjoyed dinner and yes, I felt a little guilty, it was hard to break out of that mind-set suddenly but the wine helped. Besides, I ate healthily, I always had. Maybe I like a little too much cake but I also love vegetables and protein. Overeating my old diet was a lot healthier than the borderline starvation I’d been subjecting myself to.

I knew I was making the right decision, I just needed to find another way to cope with everything. Part of me also felt a little thrill at the thought of stepping out on the red carpet with Tom next month, fuller figured again, giving the metaphorical finger to everyone who had made me feel bad about my size.

The rest of the Christmas break was a joy.

I baked a carrot cake the next day, figuring what were a few more calories, and actually ate my own baking for a change. The others enjoyed it too, judging from the noises and compliments.

Diana quickly became one of my favourite people but I was careful to keep my distance from her. Partly because it felt disrespectful to my mother, almost as if I was trying to replace her but also because I knew there was a time limit on my relationship with Tom and getting too close to her would just hurt. Even in real marriages, the ex-wife doesn’t stay in contact with her mother-in-law; friends might be up for grabs but it’s sort of a given that each partner gets to keep their own parents in the divorce settlement.

This time next year they would all be back here, but minus me.

It made the occasion bittersweet but I enjoyed Christmas a lot more than I expected to.

I forwent proofing more of my book for a day or two in favour of letting Tom read it, and he raved about it. I was sure his gushing was an attempt to boost my self-esteem but I was also sure that he did like it.

Maybe trashy thrillers were my genre. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be a literary writer. I supposed it was pretentious of me to look down on thrillers, especially since I enjoyed reading them so much.

I think I’d been working in the book world for too long, I didn’t used to look down on any genre of writing. I wasn’t giving up on my Eleanor of Aquitaine book but I could see now that maybe I needed more thrills and less detail. It was supposed to be a fictionalisation of a true story, not a historical textbook. But I’d wait for my friend’s notes, she was a story editor after all, while I was just a copy editor.

After Christmas I got around to editing the rest of my thriller and it made me smile to see that Tom had handwritten emoticons and doodles in places. Shocked faces, smiley faces, thumbs up signs, hearts; it made editing it a far nicer than usual.

Emma had left after Christmas; their deal was Christmas with her family, New Years with his, alternating each year.

We left on the 2nd of January and I hugged Diana tightly, trying not to cry. I didn’t know if I would see her again before the marriage ended but given how busy Tom usually was, I had a feeling that I might not.

Of course if she’d been my actual mother-in-law, I’d have probably called her once a week, not because it was my duty but because I liked her. In this situation however, I couldn’t afford to get too attached.

“Thank you for a wonderful Christmas,” I told her, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t expect it to be this much fun.”

Diana pulled out of the hug and cupped my cheeks. “It was a delight to have you, my dear. I hope to be seeing a lot more of you in the future.”

It was a strange thing for her to say given that she knew the nature of our relationship, but I didn’t contradict her. I kissed her cheek, then made my way to the car so Tom could say goodbye.

I still wasn’t comfortable driving such a large car so I got in the passenger side to wait and saw Diana saying something to Tom. He looked a little beleaguered actually and when she gestured towards the car, I could only hope that she wasn’t telling him he was responsible for me.

This situation might be his idea but I didn’t need looking after.

I’d put on probably 8lbs over Christmas, not back to my usual weight but I felt more like my old self, and it was as if with each pound gained, I gained some confidence back.

As Tom got in the car I reached over and kissed his cheek.

“What was that for” he asked, smiling as he started the car.

“For a lovely Christmas. For pulling my head out of my arse. And for just being you.”

He smiled and after we pulled onto the road, he took my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

I was so excited. Today we were being photographed by Nigel West and a day of pampering was just what I needed. Photoshoots also have the added benefit of everyone wanting me to look my best, unlike paparazzi pictures.

It was an early start because we had a number of different looks to be photographed today, and it was in a very plush hotel suite, so we had a bedroom, living room, dining table and they had some pretty gardens and a terrace we could use. 

We were also being interviewed throughout the day, the text of which would be available to many publications to use. 

Tom and I laughed and chatted with the people there, a hair stylist, a makeup woman, the photographer’s assistant and of course, the photographer and the journalist interviewing us. Tom needed his publicist there, Luke’s company had arranged this after all, but he was busy with someone else so they had sent a woman named Kate to oversee the day. She kept mostly to herself, watching, listening, and intervening if and when questions became inappropriate. Tom often overruled her and agreed to answer anyway. This often left Kate exasperated with Tom but she took it in her stride. I guess she’s probably used to unruly clients. 

The whole process was eased by the wine available. I didn’t have too much, we were here all day after all, but it did help relax me a little. I also partook of the nibbles. If all photoshoots had such a wonderful array of tasty treats available, it was a wonder the models could stay a size zero. Seriously there was a miniature prawn kebab thingy that while I couldn’t determine what was in it, tasted like heaven. 

In the morning we began in quite formal attire, being photographed in and around the living room of the suite. My makeup was quite heavy, with winged eyeliner that I can never manage to do for myself, and my hair was curled and bouncy. We had two changes of clothes, then came the bedroom set. The lingerie they wanted me to wear wasn’t very revealing, a corset and knickers, then a sort of silky negligee, which I actually felt more exposed in. 

They mussed up my hair up a little, artfully draped some clothes around the room, then had us adopt various poses. 

Everyone kept telling me how amazing I looked, which I assumed was because they thought I was uncomfortable but it actually just felt weird and I would rather they ignored my state of undress. My discomfort made me laugh a lot, which I was always apologising for, but the photographer kept assuring me it was okay. He kept taking pictures while I giggled, so maybe he saw something he liked. 

After that we wrapped up in the hotel’s dressing gowns and posed in the bathroom, pretending to do our morning ablutions together, like a real married couple. 

While that was going on, the photographer’s assistant ran a huge bubble bath in the massive tub, our next set. 

The hairstylist pinned my hair up in an artfully unkempt way, then they left us alone to undress and climb in the tub. I thought I might feel weird but I was confident in the bubbles ability to cover my assets. 

We laughed, talked, clinked the wine glasses they handed to us, sat end to end, then my back to his chest. It was the quickest set so far. 

They left us alone to dry off but as soon as the door closed, Tom tightened his grip around my waist to prevent me getting out of the tub. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in a sultry voice. 

I suddenly became very aware of his length pressing into my bum. 

“Nowhere,” I answered, relaxing back onto him. 

“Good,” he purred into my ear as one hand dipped down to tease my sex. “Because you can't expect to writhe on my lap like that and not get fucked.”

Hearing his cut glass voice say vulgar words like fuck always did funny things to me, which he well knew, and I didn’t hear any complaints as my hand slipped between us and I grasped his length.  We touched each other for a few moments, the he purred in my ear once more. 

“Turn around.” 

Considering how sweet, polite and just plain nice he is, Tom has this strange attitude in bed whereby he’s dominant but not domineering. His tone usually brooked no argument and yet it didn’t stop there from being moments of levity or laughter. Not that I often wanted to argue with him, I found his attitude in the bedroom was a huge turn on. The tub was huge so turning around and straddling him was easy enough, then I reached below the water and guided his length inside me as I sat down. 

We both gasped as he filled me, and my muscles twitched, gripping him tightly for a few moments. We were both so aroused that when we made eye contact, we both knew this wasn’t going to be a long and languid session. This was going to be quick and dirty. 

I don’t know what it was turning us both on so much. The fact there were people in the next room? That the door was still unlocked? That we had earlier been making sexy poses? 

Tom began to thrust up into me but the tub was so large that he couldn’t really brace himself on anything to push through the water. He wrapped his arms around my torso and with his length still inside me, moved up to the other end of the tub, so his knees were on the bottom and he could grip the end of the tub as leverage. He began to thrust and my hips rose to meet him each time, silently urging him on, harder, faster, deeper!

“My God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he breathed in my ear, making me gasp. “I could fuck you all afternoon. Would you like that?”

He knew just how to elicit a reaction from me and as I gasped with pleasure, my nails clawed down his back in reply. 

He let go of the bath with one hand and slipped it between us to rub my clit. He wasn’t soft or gentle about it, he rubbed it with determination and I quickly answered, mewling as I came, trying not to make too much noise. 

My sheath clamped down on him and seconds after, his thrusting became frantic until he pushed himself as deeply inside me as he could, then stilled while he spilled his seed. 

“Fuck,” I whispered, panting. 

Tom’s answer was to kiss me. 

We were both hot and sweaty, I just had to hope they put that down to the hot bath, not a quickie while we were supposed to be working. 

Someone gently tapped on the door. 

“You okay in there?” Kate called. 

“Fine,” I replied immediately, my voice a little too high pitched. 

“Just towelling off,” Tom added, seemingly completely unflustered. 

He got off me and I had a quick wash while he stepped out and when I stood up, he was holding a towel open for me. 

We wore the hotel dressing gowns since we had another costume change after lunch. 

I was sure my face was beet red as we exited but no one said anything. They had to know something was going on in there, though, it did not take fifteen minutes to dry off after a bath. 

We made our way to the table and filled plates with some of the goodies on offer, which had increased in number since I last nibbled at them, then we sat near the journalist, Josh. He was usually quiet while we posed and asked us questions in between sets. 

He nodded to my plate. “I hate to be rude, but I can’t help noticing that your weight loss of last year seems to be reversing.” 

“That’s a very polite way to call someone fat,” I said without rancour. “People were judging me and for a while, I foolishly thought I could make them happy by becoming what they wanted me to be. I really struggled with that.” 

“With what specifically?”

I sat back and studied him. “How would you feel if perfect strangers consistently threw disapproval and even down right hate at you because of your looks? So I worked hard to lose the weight, but they just found new reasons to hate me.” 

“Don’t you worry about your health?” 

I laughed. Maybe not the best reaction, to laugh at a journalist, but it wasn’t intentional. I could see over the journalist’s shoulder that Kate wanted to intervene, but Tom held her back. 

I shrugged. I pulled out my mobile and showed Josh a few pictures of me around Christmas. I had been pale and drawn, with circles under my eyes, I looked weary and much older. 

“Does that look healthy to you? I like me, I like my curves, and I really like these prawn thingies,” I held one up for emphasis. “Besides, I’d never been more miserable and depressed than I was before Christmas. I might be fatter than the Hollywood ideal, but at least I’m happy! 

“Honestly, if you could have seen my diet, you’d realise that what I had to do to lose that weight was a thousand times more unhealthy than just eating a bit too much. I know this is an alien concept to some when it comes to women, but we do need more than just compliments and wolf whistles to live on! Plus, starvation and over exercising leads to health problems long term.”

He seemed a little surprised by my bluntness but in a pleased way. I just hoped this wasn’t going to be a hatchet job. 

After lunch we adopted a casual look, jeans, sweaters and coats, and journeyed outside to be photographed in the grounds. Tom and I walked and ran, just being playful, then we sat on a bench, adopting various romantic poses as we went, they set up a picnic set on the grass and Tom and I pretended to feed each other various goodies from the basket, then we laid down on the blanket and tried to look moody and romantic. I still spoiled it frequently because I couldn’t stop laughing. 

To be fair, it was the middle of winter and we were outside, lying on the ground; the laughter helped to keep me warm. 

That was the end of the shoot and we returned to the suite to change into our own clothes again. 

“Have you ever considered plus size modelling?” the photographer asked me as we ascended the stairs. 

My jaw slackened with shock. 

“What? You’re tall, you’re beautiful, you have a great look that comes through on camera, why not?” 

That wasn’t why I was stunned. “Because I’m unprofessional and can't keep a straight face for love nor money.” 

“You did plenty well, and you only need to strike a pose for a second. You should consider it.” 

“Thanks, I will,” I smiled at him. 

I wouldn’t, of course, I was just being polite. Whilst it was flattering and today had been fun, but I doubted it would be fun if done regularly, and a lot of my enjoyment today simply came from being with Tom. I was also under no illusions about the modelling industry, I had been treated so well today because my husband was with me and he was a famous movie star. If I modelled alone I was sure I would see all the ugly aspects of the industry that I had read about so often.  Tom and I changed and after thanking everyone, we left. 

*** 

I was back to running five miles a day and usually Tom came with me. He wasn’t filming a new movie until March, so he wasn’t in training, just keeping his fitness up and keeping me company. 

After our run we would do yoga, rather than press-ups and sit-ups, then we occasionally went out for lunch, or to the local café for a snack. 

On the 3rd of January, two days before we left for America, I got an email from Jilly with her notes on my book. She hadn’t got past the first five chapters but her notes were useful; I could put them into practice throughout the whole manuscript without too much trouble. 

I replied, thanking her profusely and asking if she and her husband fancied a meal at The Ivy on me, and when was good for them. 

Her notes revealed exactly what I expected, that I was too focused on detail and fact, rather than plot and storytelling. 

I needed to forget about describing the settings and costumes in minute, historically correct detail, and put my readers in Eleanor’s head, give them insight into how I imagined this amazing woman to be. I also needed to cut some events out entirely, and heavily abridge others. 

It’s not easy to see something you’ve poured your heart and soul into criticised, it’s like someone criticising your children, but I knew I had to be grown up about this. I’d asked Jilly to do this, and she was someone I liked and respected, so to let my ego get in the way of her advice would be exceptionally stupid. I needed to be ruthless, not emotional.

I set aside the afternoons to work on my writing and I began by printing off my thriller and sending it out by post and email to various publishing houses. I debated using a pen name but decided that I wasn’t ashamed of it. I enjoyed writing that book. I worked hard on it, and it should be my name on it! I also considered putting that I already had an offer to option the rights, but I didn’t. I wanted it to be taken on its own merits.

With that done, I turned my attention to editing the Eleanor of Aquitaine novel, but with my thriller mind-set on, trying to keep the action tense and the plot moving forward. It was surprisingly effective; Eleanor of Aquitaine was a historical figure, but she was also a kick-arse heroine. I think I’d forgotten that. 

I had an appointment with my doctor and explained my mini breakdown. Considering how much better I was feeling, she recommended that I not start on antidepressants but see a therapist to start. She referred me to a private psychologist who could prescribe if it was needed. So far, so good! 

Of course, finding the time to see her was another matter, because the Oscar season kicked off in earnest in January, with awards I’d never even heard of before. We only had to attend the biggest ones but that was still five in January and another four in February. The nominations came in dribs and drabs. The soonest were announced earliest of course, but Tom’s movie had been nominated for all of them so far, so we were confident it would be nominated by the rest. 

We flew to California on the 5th so we could attend an awards ceremony on the 6th. Tom rented us a house for two months since we’d be here most of the time, that way we could have a more permanent base and leave some things here when we had to return to the UK. It was a sweet little cottage near the beach in a quiet neighbourhood, and Tom was particularly happy with it because it had a fully stocked kitchen and we could cook our own meals instead of relying on room service.  And I baked, of course. The man does like his pudding! 

We had to find me some dresses so Tom (although I suspect it was Luke) arranged for a massive selection to be available. Tom urged me to get one for each event but I knew that would be more than most people’s down payment on a house so I argued rather vehemently against it. Tom somehow talked me into it. 

“Tom, this is ridiculous!  Look at the prices on these things!  Some of them cost nearly as much as my car, and I’m never going to wear them again!”  I argued as I looked with longing at a stunning deep blue chiffon Carolina Herrerra. 

Tom walked over and firmly lifted the dress from its hanger.  He knelt with the thing pooled at my feet, looking up at me. I didn’t fail to notice the appreciative look he gave my lingerie. 

“Step in, darling,” he ordered. “I want you to have a new dress for each event, just like all the other women there.  You don’t want to give the gossip cats a reason to sharpen their claws, do you?” 

I stepped into the dress and he drew it up my body and zipped it closed, dropping a kiss on the back of my neck.  I shivered. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman there whatever you wear, but these things are all about the press, and they will notice if you have the temerity to wear something more than once!” 

Tom won that argument when he kissed the back of my neck.  I looked into the mirror at the two of us, him standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders.  Really, I would give him nearly anything when he looks at me like that. 

The way he could drop money was still shocking to me, but it was his money and he told me I could donate the dresses to charity after. I can’t see what good that would do for the recipients, but perhaps they could sell the dresses and keep the proceeds. But I’m keeping the Carolina Herrerra. 

Mostly we kept to basically the same schedule we had adopted back home, running on the beach in the morning, yoga, then lunch (sometimes at home, sometimes out), then I did errands or worked on my manuscript, while he did any work he had.  There were a lot of interviews lined up for him and he had some new scripts to look over. 

First up was the People's Choice Awards on the 6th. After that there was a different award ceremony every week after, for the entire month.  It was an eye-opening look at how hectic the whole process was, a kind of controlled chaos with Tom sitting serenely in the centre of it all. 

Before each ceremony I had a hair and makeup artist come and ‘do’ me so I was on par with the female celebrities around me. I honestly thought I could do my own, but when she began contouring my neck and collar bones, I realised that perhaps I was out of my depth. It took two hours to achieve a ‘natural’ look. Oddly it took 10 minutes less to create a ‘dramatic’ look. I particularly liked the way she did a smoky eye, so at least I learned something new! 

Luke actually seemed to restrain his dislike of me, and I reciprocated by trying not to antagonise him. Much. We weren’t exactly friendly and I did enjoy watching Luke trying to herd Tom out of the house and into the car. I had long ago accepted that he was usually running ten minutes behind, but Luke let it wind him up every time, and I secretly enjoyed his exasperation. 

I enjoyed the red carpets and the after parties (sometimes a little too much) but I knew my figure was being negatively commented on. I knew because, although I was avoiding gossip sites and twitter, people would insist on asking me about it. In fact as we walked the red carpet, that seemed to be just about the only question I was ever asked. Okay, one or two would ask about the unusual marriage (was that still news?) but easily 90 percent or more of the questions about me, were about my weight. 

I gave mostly bland answers like “I’m very happy the way I am” or “I think everyone deserves to love themselves, no matter their size” because a red carpet really wasn’t the place for in depth discussions on body image. 

After the third red carpet I asked if I could leave Tom to be interviewed alone and Luke arranged it. I was still there as arm candy at the start and the end, I just skipped the middle part. 

Towards the end of January I received an email reply to one of my submissions, requesting the whole manuscript of my thriller. I happily emailed it and felt giddy with pleasure, but I was careful to keep my expectations in check. I didn’t want to jinx myself! 

After the Directors Guild Awards, we flew straight home, so we could get over our jet-lag and enjoy a few days relaxing at home. I didn’t pack much, I had spares of most things in the UK, and we were returning to the US in in ten days for another round of events. 

I came home to another request for my manuscript, this time a letter, so I gleefully printed it off and posted it. With two people showing interest, it became a little harder to keep my expectations in check. I might still only have a tiny chance, but the odds of it being accepted had just doubled! 

We arranged to have dinner with Jilly and her husband, Geoff, on the Friday before the BAFTA Awards, at the Ivy restaurant. 

They were both thrilled to be eating at such a good place. I liked that despite being a celebrity hangout, it wasn’t too pretentious and the menu included British favourites such as cottage pie, and bangers and mash. It wasn’t even too overpriced. 

I almost told Jilly about the manuscript requests I’d had, but decided I might jinx myself so I kept quiet. 

“So, how are you faring, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, Mac?” Jilly asked. 

“Oh, Mac is having a grand time!” Tom answered.  “Did she tell you about the time she felt up Will Smith?” he asked with a grin and a teasing side-eye at me. 

Jilly’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You didn’t!” 

I laughed and poked Tom’s shoulder playfully. “Shut it, you! He’s taking the piss! I did not feel up Will Smith… Well okay, I did, but it was an accident!” 

“Wait.  You ‘accidentally’ felt up Will Smith? How, exactly, does that work??” Jilly asked laughingly. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, it was nothing like that! I was sitting down, and he was standing behind me with his back turned to me. You know how I tend to throw my hands around when I talk, especially after a few drinks!  I gestured about something and lightly smacked his bum, that’s all!  No big deal.” I shrugged nonchalantly. 

Jilly’s eyes went round and she asked me in a hushed voice, “You…you actually touched Will Smith’s bum? Oh my god!  Did it feel as good as it looks? I’ll tell you something for free, that man has the finest arse in Hollywood!” She sat back and took a sip of her wine, then looked up at Tom. “No offense, Tom!” 

Tom picked up his wine and took a judicious sip.  “None taken.  He does indeed have a very fine arse.”

“How fine?” she demanded.

“Put it this way, my hand bounced!” I said with glee.

Tom’s eyes slid slyly to mine. 

“Don’t worry, Tom, as far as I’m concerned you’ve still the finest bum in all of England!” I teased back. 

Geoff growled, “Must we talk about Will Smith’s bottom at the dinner table?” 

Jilly and I giggled as she stage whispered, “It’s so round and firm, I just want to bite it like an apple! But Geoff’s bum is very nice, too…” 

“Jilly!” 

I intervened before the red that started up Geoff’s neck fully bloomed. 

“Well, then there was the time that I did shots with Emma Thompson… I met her in the ladies loo at one of the after parties. She was having a wee in the stall next to me and after a lot of swearing in that lovely posh voice of hers, asked me if I had any loo paper to spare! She’s a lovely lady…”  I sighed.

“She saved me from waltzing out of the ladies with the back of my skirt tucked in my Spanx!” They all laughed, Tom’s particular laugh booming out over all. 

 “You didn’t tell me that bit!” he accused.

“Well, YOU try having a wee with all those yards and yards of fabric to hoist up!  Honestly, it’s a miracle that more of those ladies don’t walk around with wet hems from having dipped their skirts in the bowl as they fight their dresses for a simple pee!” 

Then Geoff remembered something he’d been linked to on twitter the day before.  “Say, who is this Berlin Marriott fellow?  He…” 

Something must have shown on my face as Jilly cut him off rather sharply. 

“He’s a vile man, he is. I’m surprised you’ve put up with him so long, Mac. It’s not like you.” 

“Yes,” Tom agreed flatly, then turned the conversation deftly with a story about filming Archipelago. 

I was only half listening.  Berlin must have called me a hell of a lot worse than fat, unhealthy and gross this time for Geoff to take notice. 

I drank a little more wine than usual and did my best to put it out of my head.  I refused to feel guilty when ordering dessert along with everyone else. I ate my apple crumble with relish, enjoying every bite! I then ordered a large Bailies to finish. 

By the end of the evening everyone was a little drunk.  It was so nice to spend an evening with Tom and my friends, for a change. And Jilly was a little bit in love with Tom but then, who wasn’t? The man could charm the hind legs off a donkey. 

Geoff and Jilly left first as they had pre-ordered a cab and it arrived before we’d asked for the bill. As soon as they left, Tom turned to me and took my hand. 

“Are you okay, love?” he asked. 

I smiled brightly. “I’m fine, it’s been a lovely evening.” 

“Please don’t start lying to me again,” he said concernedly. 

He was too damn perceptive for his own good. I took a deep breath and admitted, “I can't stop thinking about that bloody gossip monger! I know he must have said something awful about me because I’ve been on his blog before. I think the bastard’s secretly in love with you and uses any excuse to try and humiliate me!” 

“I know, love, and I’m sorry Geoff said anything. I know being attacked like that hurts, you’ve just got to find a way to shrug it off.” 

I nodded. He made it sound so simple. 

*** 

My dreams that night were filled with the faces of angry strangers all night, shouting vile things at me. I felt shaken the next day, angered by that Berlin arsehole. Against my better judgement, I found myself logging onto his site and seeing what he’d said about me recently. 

There was a lot to wade through as he wrote about me at least once a day, whether he had news or not. He seemed to quite literally hate me, spewing venom in my direction for any reason he could think of, and no reason at all.  What on earth had I ever done to him?! 

According to him, I was disgusting, unhealthy, dumb, a gold digger, a bimbo, a leech, a whale, a pig, a blob, and 101 synonyms for all those words, usually the less pleasant ones. Each page I read made me angrier until I was seeing red. 

I searched the site and found his file photo, and was stunned to see that he was all the things that he was calling me out for. 

Who was this overweight, unattractive little gossip monger to pick on me? I quietly seethed, but that was preferable to crying. 

*** 

I didn’t bother with the hair and makeup artist the next night, I’d seen my American helper do it often enough by now and besides, beauty standards aren’t quite as unrealistic in the UK. I went for a natural look but in honour of it being Valentine’s Day, I wore a red dress, the one I thought made me look like my mother. 

I needed her with me today, and in this dress it somehow felt like I was channelling her spirit just a little. 

Tom and I had both agreed not to do anything special for Valentine’s day; obviously our evening was taken up with the awards and we weren’t really married, so... 

Regardless, I bought him a small teddy bear holding a chocolate heart. I was so pleased when he presented me with a teddy bear holding a stuffed heart, and a box of Belgian chocolates. 

I know it’s silly to feel all romantic and giddy over small gifts, but I did. I knew he was just being polite, that he was observing a social construct in the hopes of making me smile. He was kind like that. And it did make me smile. 

Leaving him was going to be hell, but I pushed that thought aside and focused on enjoying what we had. The fact that leaving was going to rip my heart out was not news and if I was going to face that pain, then I might as well enjoy whatever it was we were sharing. 

I watched happily while Luke tried to harangue Tom out of the house. It was a small pleasure but I took them where I could find them. I tried my best to hide my smile though, not wanting to spoil our truce. 

It took about 20 minutes to get to the Royal Opera House so we had a few minutes of calm in the car and I snuggled into Tom’s side. 

“Here,” Luke turned around in his seat to speak to us. He seemed to enjoy ruining our intimate moments. “Wear these,” he said brusquely. 

He passed us a red button hole rose for Tom and a red rose corsage for me. 

“We have to make people believe you’re married,” he explained. “Romance sells the lie.” 

And I had so been enjoying the fantasy… Leave it to Luke to suck all the fun out of anything I was enjoying.  It’s one thing to do that to me, but he was unfairly making it all difficult for Tom, as well. 

“Luke, lighten up, man! You pushed us into this thing, if you want us to sell it the least you could do is stop being such a prick about it! Jesus!” Tom sat back and huffed exasperatedly. 

“What? All I did was hand you a couple of Valentine’s roses!” Luke tried to defend himself. 

“No, mate.  What you did was stamp on Mac’s smile! We’re doing what you wanted!” 

“I just don’t want her getting too comfortable,” Luke grumbled. 

“Most people would say it’s marriage kills romance, but you’re doing a damn good job of it, Luke! How in hell are we supposed to look like the happy couple you want us to present?” I argued, but I allowed Tom to pin the flowers to my dress, then I returned the favour. 

The mood was spoiled but I leaned over and kissed him tenderly anyway. 

“I preferred the teddy and chocolates,” I assured him. 

Luke looked away sourly, he usually did when the public displays of affection began. Or whenever Tom looked to be enjoying my company. Arsehole. 

We arrived at the Red Carpet and posed at the near end for photographs, then Tom went to sign autographs, his bodyguard and Luke with him. The fans were loud, screaming not just for Tom, but for the celebrities ahead and behind us. 

I could have sworn I could hear someone shouting insults at me, and I’m not conceited, but they were weight related insults and I was the only one around that they even marginally applied to. I tuned them out, but as Luke urged Tom on, I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards me for a kiss. 

You want to shout mean things at me because you’re jealous? I’ll give you something to be jealous about! 

Tom looked a little dazed when I pulled away but the smile on his face was unmistakable. 

“What was that for?” he murmured, sliding a hand down my arm 

I smiled at him, and reached up to wipe the smear of my lipstick tenderly off his lip with my thumb. 

“Just selling the romance,” I said as my excuse. I didn’t think, he’d like the real answer, ‘to piss off one of your fans’. 

“Tom,” Luke urged, shooting me a dirty look, prodding Tom back to his press duties. I smiled smugly at him. 

The red carpet here wasn’t long and there were only a couple of interview stations set up, so I hovered nearby while Tom answered questions. 

At the end of the carpet we paused for more photographers and Tom turned to me. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” I smiled, and then he kissed me, making my toes curl right there in front of the press and everybody, the camera shutters went mad. 

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he said in my ear as he pulled away. 

“You too.” I said as I caressed his cheek softly and smiled back. 

Having given the press their photo op, we headed inside, Tom muttering in my ear. 

“Walk in front of me love, please.  You’ve given me a bit of trouble with my trousers.” 

*** 

Poor Tom hadn’t been doing too well at the awards. He’d won the People’s Choice and SAG awards, but he’d lost the others. The film had won in a few other categories, so it was still possible they’d get best picture at the Oscars or something, but Tom wasn’t too hopeful about winning best actor at the Oscars. 

I felt awful for him, but he seemed to be handling it with equanimity. 

Here though, he was nominated for Best Actor in a small, British independent movie, one that was too small to qualify for most American awards. Tom didn’t expect to win but I was hopeful.  Unfortunately I was wrong but Tom shrugged it off and we headed to the after parties. 

We danced, drank more than was healthy and had a great night, although I wasn’t quite my normal self. Tom was still dancing when I got a new drink and settled down at a table to cool off. I was joined a moment later by Elle Greystone, wife of last year’s Best Actor winner, Will Braxton. 

I knew of her because she was represented by the same PR firm as Tom and I’d seen them at a few events, but we hadn’t had a chance to speak. Will wasn’t up for any awards but he had presented earlier. 

“Hi, I’m Elle,” she smiled at me, fanning herself with a menu. 

“Mac,” I called over the loud music. “Pleased to meet you.” 

“And you! Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Elle asked, and while I briefly wondered if she was coming onto me, it would be nice to talk somewhere that I didn’t have to yell over the music.  “Sure.” 

We headed into the bar next door and took a nice quiet corner table. 

“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” Elle told me. “I’ve been where you are and the press can be  a right bunch of merciless bastards!  When Will and I married, that Berlin was a constant thorn in my side.  He’d publish photos of me taking the rubbish outside to the bin and sneer because I didn’t do it in full make-up at 7am!  I had lunch with my younger brother while Will was on location one day, and he published a whole column speculating about my toy-boy!  It took weeks for the furore from that to die down! I think I had it far easier though.” 

I’d forgotten that she was just a normal girl, like me. “You’re an artist, right?” 

She nodded. “Graphic design mostly. I just wanted to let you know that while this whole celebrity thing came as something of a shock, I got through it. I can see you’re strong, you’ll learn to live with it too.” 

“I don’t think I’ll have to,” I mumbled, feeling a bit sick. 

“You don’t really have a choice,” Elle said kindly, assuming I was speaking of the media harassment. “Just remember why you love Tom and try not to let the bullshit come between you.” 

The bullshit wasn’t going to come between us though, the divorce was. Yes, I loved Tom but he’d never said anything about having feelings for me. Attracted to me, yes, but he didn’t have feelings for me, none beyond liking me, anyway. Something must have shown on my features though, as she continued. 

“He’s clearly besotted with you.” 

No, he’s just that good an actor, I thought quietly. 

“I’m just saying, don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.” 

I wasn’t throwing anything away. I was contractually obligated to return the baby 12 months after receipt. 

“More than anything, I’m angry,” I confessed, keen to move the discussion away from our relationship. “I’d like to rub that gossip columnists face in his degrading remarks and show the world what a giant hypocrite he is!” 

“How?” Elle sat forward eagerly, clearly liking my idea. “Can I help? That Berlin wanker needs a good kick in the balls! It’s a pity we can’t follow him around with a camera, give _him_ a taste of his own medicine!” she said.  His treatment of her still clearly rankled, however much she denied it. I thought a bit. 

“How about challenging him to a race? I know I could beat him hands down, and then I’d prove to everyone that I’m not unfit and unhealthy.” I couldn’t help the smile that formed as I spoke. 

“Why don’t you do that, then?” Elle asked. My heart sank and I sighed. 

“Luke,” I replied. “He goes mental if I post a tweet without approval, can you imagine how he’d react if I tried to set something like this up without his approval?!” 

“Why not get his approval?” 

“Because I’m not his client and I’m not his child! I shouldn’t need his approval.” I sighed. “Besides, he hates me, no way would he ever agree…” 

Elle shrugged. “Do it anyway then.” 

I stared at her. 

Why not do it anyway? If I created a big enough fuss, then Luke would have no choice but to agree with it and to do that, all I had to do was tweet, then get Tom to retweet it. He had two million followers, that was more than enough. Hell, I just needed to borrow his phone or go on his computer (he stayed logged in) and I could retweet it for him, he’d never even know. 

Probably best that way, then he had plausible deniability with Luke. I might hate the man but he was good for Tom’s career and I would never do anything that might hurt that. 

A wicked grin formed on my face and Elle laughed. “Oh, that’s an evil look! You go get ‘em, Mac! 

Berlin Marriott isn’t going to know what hit him!” 

I’m going to tweet every week until he takes me up on my challenge. Beating that son of a bitch was going to feel amazing! 

“Thank you,” I told Elle, raising my glass for a toast. “Here’s to showing the bastard up!” 

Elle clinked glasses with me and I knew I’d made a new friend. 

*** 

I got up before Tom the next morning, he had more to drink than I did, and he’d danced for way longer than me. 

After my morning ablutions I took two ibuprofen for my headache, made a mug of tea, then did a few yoga exercises. I was feeling almost normal after that. 

I thought about my discussion with Elle last night, I’d been slightly pissed after all and I needed to consider my options while sober. I decided what the hell, I was done being a victim. I was going to fight back, dammit! I logged onto twitter and began typing. 

_If @BerlinGossip really thinks I’m so gross, unhealthy, obese & disgusting, he will have no problem going head to head in a half marathon.  _

_U set the time & place @BerlinGossip, I’ll show up and kick your arse & show everyone who the disgusting, unhealthy & obese 1 of us is!  _

_Any time, anywhere, @BerlinGossip. Put your money where your mouth is, unless you’re afraid to be shown up by the disgusting blob!_  

That should do it. I turned Tom’s laptop on while I made another mug of tea, then I retweeted my tweets from his account. 

Luke was going to go postal, but I was looking forward to it. I felt empowered, and Luke can just suck it. I’m taking back my life! 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

We made it to 3 pm before we heard from Luke, and he chose to come to the house and see me personally. 

“What the fuck is this??” he demanded as soon as Tom opened the door. 

“What?” Tom asked. 

“Your wife’s challenge to Berlin fucking Marriott!” 

Tom just shook his head, looking puzzled. 

“You retweeted it!” Luke’s voice was getting screechy high now. 

“I did it,” I said, waltzing out of the sun room. “I’m taking back control of my life and I will no longer allow that vicious little excuse for a human being to demean and belittle me without hitting back.” 

“Do you have any ideas how many calls I’ve fielded about this?!” 

“No,” I smiled sweetly, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” 

“The phone has been ringing off the hook!” 

“Good! I wanted to make some waves.” I turned away and headed into the sitting room, knowing they were going to follow me. 

“You should have cleared this with me,” Luke yelled. 

“I knew you’d say ‘no’.”  I said, unconcerned. 

“I WOULD HAVE!” 

I shrugged as if to say, ‘well, what do you expect then?’ 

“I’m your publicist, I can’t look after your interests if you don’t talk to me!” 

“You’re Tom’s publicist, not mine, as you have repeatedly made clear, and you have never looked after my best interests!” 

Tom was watching us bicker from the side-lines, unsure how to react until he knew exactly what had happened. 

“I- You can’t-” Luke stuttered. 

“What exactly did you say to Marriott?” Tom asked me, puzzled. 

“I challenged him to put his money where his mouth is and see if he can beat this disgusting and unhealthy whale in a half marathon.” I smirked.  “And you retweeted it from my account?” 

I nodded. That was the only bit I was hesitant about. 

“Twitter is going mental, Berlin has written four new articles ripping her to shreds, the press are clamouring for interviews and-” Luke sighed. “This is a nightmare.” 

“You said publicity is good for Tom and the Oscars,” I argued. 

“Not this late in the game!” 

“Voting doesn’t end until five days before the ceremony so there’s another week to go,” I reminded him. 

“This publicity isn’t for Tom, it’s for you!” 

“But the only reason anyone knows me is because of Tom!” 

“It’s a bit of a moot point anyway,” Tom added wearily. “Going by the other events, it seems pretty clear that I’m not going to win this year.” 

“Never say never,” Luke urged, but he was looked defeated. 

I actually felt a little bit bad for how haggard he looked.  Whatever else I felt about Luke, I knew he’d worked his arse off for Tom. It was his one saving grace, as far as I was concerned. 

“Luke,  I need to look out for myself in this circus, and this is what I need to do to reclaim my power.” I said as reasonably as I could. 

Luke huffed in exasperation and reached into the pocket of his jacket. 

“I brought the post,” he handed it to Tom. My mail was now redirected to Luke’s people, who screened all my letters for hate mail before forwarding on the rest to me. 

“I’m going to put the kettle on, then we are all going to sit down and discuss how to handle this.” Luke marched stiffly into the kitchen as I nodded my agreement at his retreating back; having an adult discussion was the least I could do at this point. 

Tom flicked through the letters and handed me mine, which I opened in the living room, giving Luke time to cool down a little, while Tom headed through to the kitchen. 

One looked interesting and I opened that first. I read it twice to be sure. 

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Oh my God! Tom! Tom!” I ran through to the kitchen, excitedly waving the letter around, to see both men staring at me like I was crazy. 

“Mac?” Tom could see I was happy and wore a tentative smile. 

“They want my book!” I shouted to the rafters, waving the letter as my proof. 

He broke into a huge grin and leapt at me, sweeping me off my feet and spinning us around as he hugged me. 

“That’s brilliant, love!” 

I was so excited that I wanted nothing more than to dance around, but I settled for a searing kiss from Tom. 

“I’m so proud of you!” Tom assured me, still hugging me tightly. 

Finally- and too soon for my tastes- he released me. 

“So what happens now?”  he asked. 

“I don’t know,” I grinned. “I guess I need an agent. But I have to wait until the three months are up, see if anyone else makes an offer.” 

I tried to seem normal, but it was no good. A little squee escaped as I jumped in a circle. 

Luke finished making the tea and set it on the table. “Congratulations,” he said without inflection, patently insincere. 

“Thank you.” I replied, equally insincere. 

Given that I probably had caused Luke some additional headaches, I sat down and tried not to grin too widely as we discussed my tweets. 

I was totally going to race Berlin. If he refused or remained silent, that would speak volumes, but to actually thrash him, well that would be a sweet revenge! 

“Alright, Mac,” Luke acknowledged, “it’s done now.  All we can do is make the best of it, I suppose. What are your terms for the wager?” 

“If Berlin wins, I’ll donate $5000 to a charity of his choice. If I win, he’ll sign a contract agreeing not to mention me at all on his blog, apologise for all the insults he’s levelled at me, and take a course on bullying.  I’m not sure he’ll agree to all that, but as long as he stops writing about me, I’ll be happy. Oh, and if I win, he’ll donate $5000 to a charity of my choice! I’ve been supporting cancer charities, for obvious reasons, in my races.” 

“Why not have him donate the money to an anti-bullying campaign?” 

I paused. “I guess it doesn’t feel right, since I’m essentially bullying him right back into doing this race. It’s a bit hypocritical, I know.” I shrugged. “But he started it and sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”

I was happy to do any distance up to a half marathon, any time before the 6th of March, when we were returning to the UK. Besides, I didn’t want to give him time to get in shape, this was about proving that at any given time, I was in healthier and in better shape than he was! 

Acquiescing ungraciously to my fait accompli, Luke assured me he would generate as much publicity as he could to try to shame Berlin into agreeing, and that he would try to find a race already being held that we could compete in. Being a celebrity’s wife had perks, it seemed, such as late entrance. 

He also told me to set up a ‘Just Giving’ account since Tom was starting to get tweets asking how to sponsor me. I already had an account from my previous charity runs, and I gave him the details. 

Once Luke left, Tom insisted on taking me out for a celebratory meal that night. I considered calling my aunt and maybe talking Tom into going to Colchester to celebrate with my family, but it felt wrong not to have my mother there. Once, well, if a deal was signed then I’d tell Anna, and my other friends in Colchester. For now I was content to celebrate with Tom. 

Tom wanted to take me to somewhere expensive, but those places are generally prissy and make me feel watched. Besides, I’m not really a Micheline star kind of girl, I prefer comfort food to fine fare, so we walked to a local bistro that we both liked, although Tom did insist on buying a bottle of lovely champagne. 

We laughed a lot but after the main course had been served, Tom grew sombre. 

“Mac, I’m really pleased about your book offer…”

“I sense a massive but coming, and for once it isn’t mine,” I joked. 

Tom didn’t smile. “You used my twitter account without permission.” 

“I know,” I was contrite. “That was the only bit of this that I was unsure about,” I confessed. 

“Why did you do it then?” 

“Because I thought I could talk you into it but I knew Luke was going to be mad. I thought that if I did it without your knowledge, then I’d take all the blame and you and Luke would still be friends.” 

“I think I understand.” His expression softened and he reached across the table for my hand. “Promise me you won’t do it again, though.” 

“I swear.” 

“So I don’t need to start password protecting my computer?”

“No, it will never happen again, I promise.” 

He accepted that and after an extravagant dessert, we walked home, arm in arm. We teased each other as we walked, saying progressively dirty things so that by the home we got home, we didn’t make it past the stairs before he slipped his length inside me. 

Once we eventually made it to the bedroom we made love again through the night.

Finally I lay sprawled on Tom, his softening length still inside me as we enjoyed the post coital bliss. 

“Thank you,” I said once my breathing was easier. 

“I haven’t done anything,” he assured me. “Today was all you.” 

I raised my head. “I know, but I can’t imagine sharing it with anyone else.” 

Tom smiled and for a second something passed between us. 

“Mac,” his smile faded as he tried to find the words. “I-” 

My own smile faded as something tugged on my heartstring. I didn’t dare consider what he might say. 

“Have I told you recently how gorgeous you are?” he finally said, reaching up and tracing a finger over my cheek softly. 

Despite having no expectation and as nice as that was, it was somehow a let-down. Still, I plastered a smile on my face. 

“Then it’s a good job I have you on my arm, because you’re a bit of alright too!” 

*** 

We returned to California on the Wednesday, and went out for a late dinner, as neither of us wanted to cook with our jet lag. Unfortunately, it was L.A. in the middle of Oscar Week, and Tom Hiddleston’s fat wife had issued a public challenge to race a nasty gossip blogger.  How they found us, I don’t know, but they did. 

We got the bill and left, only to be surrounded by paparazzi as soon as we stepped outside. We’d been here before and the photographers were usually quite polite, taking a few snaps while we smiled and acknowledged them, but not being much of a bother. This time though, they followed us down the street, snapping pictures, walking backwards in front of us, cameras and flashes everywhere. I could hardly see, I had so many purple blotches in my eyes now, and I was becoming a little frightened. Crowds are just about my only phobia. Well, crowds and spiders. 

Tom put his arm around me and I turned my head into his shoulder, trying to block the flashes. He guided me to the edge of the pavement and used his free hand to hail a cab.

The paps surrounded us again and I could hear their questions. They were asking about the Oscars mostly, but a few asked about me and my weight, and my challenge to Berlin Marriott.. 

Jesus fucking Christ, you’d think I was the size of a house, not the size of the average British woman! Finally Tom urged me forward and into a cab, slamming the door after us. 

“Just go,” he told the driver, pulling me against him to I could avert my face from the hungry pack of photographers. 

The cab took a few seconds to gain speed, trying not to run the paparazzi over in the process but once we were at a reasonable speed, I sat up. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I’m sorry, love,” Tom told me, taking my hand. “It must be the academy awards coming up, made them smell blood.” 

“Where to?” the cabbie asked, and Tom gave the address of a bar a few doors away from our house, to prevent anyone from following us home. 

 ***

The following morning, Luke emailed to tell me that Berlin had taken the bait and Luke had arranged for us to both run the Santa Barbara 10K Fun Run on Saturday. 

Perfect. 

I already ran about five miles a day, which is eight kilometers, and unless he exercised regularly, I knew Berlin wouldn’t have time to get in better shape. 

I announced it on Twitter and amended my just giving page. My $5,000 would be going to breast cancer research, but the ‘Just Giving’ donations were going to an anti-bullying charity. To my surprise, the donations began to stream in. Maybe I had more supporters out there than I thought! He didn’t have to, but Tom ran with me each day and we did seven miles, just so I was ready. Each mile I would also go flat out for thirty seconds of high intensity exercise, because I didn’t intend to just beat Berlin. I wanted to thrash him! 

I knew I was ready, I was in the best shape of my life and unlike my pre-Christmas exercise, I wasn’t being stupid. Back then I spent so much time hiding pulled muscles and pretending that I hadn’t overdone it. 

I asked Tom if he wanted to do the race too, but he said he preferred to be my cheerleader. I was pleased; this was my moment and as much as I loved him, I didn’t want it to be overshadowed by Tom this once. Of course I wasn’t above him being at the finish line for the photographers to see him congratulating me. Hey, if I had to live with the downside of marrying a celebrity, then I might as well make use of it for maximum humiliation of my enemies. Plus, I knew his congratulatory kiss at the finish line would be worth racing toward! 

I had to give a few telephone interviews to online news sites and radio shows.  The first one went well, the interviewer actually seemed sympathetic.  In fact, the several women who interviewed me all gave me the impression that they’d be rooting for me.  Perhaps they all understood what it was like to be under Berlin’s bullying boot! 

Whatever the result, Luke had booked us (me, Tom and Berlin) on the Ellen Show the next Monday. 

Tuesday was the closing day for the Oscar votes and Luke wanted to milk every ounce of publicity for Tom that he could. 

It felt nice to realise that I had done something proactive, and that I was the reason Tom was on a talk show. Even although I wasn’t chasing fame, I sort of felt as if I was riding his coat tails anyway, since he’d given me the opportunity to write, so returning the favour in some small way felt rather good.  ***

I lay in bed the night before the race, staring at the dark ceiling, Tom’s sleeping form next to me. I had been so confident all week, sure beyond any doubt that I would win the race.  But now all my insecurities were crawling out of the dark, whispering in my ear. 

What was I thinking? If I lose this race it will be humiliation on a global scale! What if Berlin is actually in better shape than I thought? What if I pulled a muscle, or fell?  A vision crowded into my head of what I would look like as I ran in front of all those people, sweating and lumbering along, all my bits jiggling and bouncing, red in the face and panting for air.  Oh God!

Tom stirred next to me, pulling me out of my vision of abject humiliation.  I turned my head to find him looking back at me, the moonlight through the window gilding his dear face in shades of silver. He lifted a hand and stroked my hair back from my face. 

“What’s wrong, love?  Can’t sleep?” he asked softly. 

I bit my lip and nodded. 

“Nervous about tomorrow?”  I nodded silently. 

 “You’ve no reason to be nervous, you know. You’ve already done the hard part.  You stood up for yourself, and you stopped letting the bullies ruin your happiness. Tomorrow,”  he kissed my forehead. “Tomorrow doesn’t matter, whatever happens, you’ve already won, darling.” 

He hugged me and ran his large hands up and down my back in a soothing rhythm and at last I relaxed and finally fell into a deep and untroubled sleep. 

The next morning dawned beautifully, it was lovely and sunny but not too warm and there was a light breeze coming off the ocean; a perfect day to go running.  Luke met us at the start of the run and there were a few film crews there, mostly local ones, and for the first time ever, I laid eyes on my tormentor. 

Berlin was a short, dumpy man who had a sort of harassed look about him. As persecutors go, he was rather pathetic and as Luke brought us together for a photo op, I wondered if his pathetic nature was why he felt the need to be cruel to others. 

I thought that when I saw him I would be brimming with vitriol and anger but instead all I felt was a bit sorry for the pitiful creature. 

I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no way this man was going to beat me, because all of his running gear was brand new. By the time we’d finished today he would have blisters, chafing in places he didn’t know he had places, and he’d be humiliated. 

It made me rather more sympathetic to his plight, knowing that he was going to live the reality of my insecurities. 

“Hi,” I shook his hand and smiled warmly. “I’m Mac.” 

“Hi.” He looked defiant. “Good luck today.” 

He seemed to genuinely think he had a chance of winning and I wondered, given how many unflattering workout pictures he’d posted of me, how he could possibly expect to win? Maybe he really thought that I was so fat that even a fast walk reduced me to a sweating mess. 

Being (very) minor celebrities, we were in the second batch of runners to be let loose. The professional athletes having gone first. 

Tom kissed me, for luck he said. “You’ll be brilliant, love! Go and kick the little weasel’s arse and I’ll see you at the finish line.” 

My heart swelled at his confidence in me. I reached up and pulled him down for a last kiss. Tom swatted my backside playfully as I turned, and I grinned back at him over my shoulder as I strolled to the starting line. 

He and Luke would drive to the finish line to wait for me. I noticed Berlin watching us, a sneer on his face, while his own friends wished him luck, then we lined up. I felt nearly giddy, I was so looking forward to this! 

For the first kilometre or so I kept pace with Berlin, letting him see that while he was huffing, puffing and sweating like a pig, I was actually pretty fresh faced and holding myself back. After that though, I wanted to thrash his time so I wished him luck with a smile and a jaunty wave, and took off. 

The spectators were in pockets along the course and I was thrilled to see that some were cheering me on as I passed. A few even held signs up for me. Some were clearly body image campaigners but others, I could tell by their signs that they were Tom’s fans because they had found some way to include him. 

You might think that having someone else’s fans cheer me on would feel patronising but I think that because I generally only encountered the nasty ones through blogs like Berlin’s, seeing these nice, normal women come out to support me felt reassuring. Sometimes it can feel like everyone is against you but that’s never really the case. These people were the silent majority of Tom’s fans, the ones who wished him well and didn’t feel entitled to a say over his private life.

It was a lovely day and I thoroughly enjoyed the run. Especially when I could see Tom leaping about and cheering me at the finish! Even Luke caught the excitement of the crowd and cheered! The bursts of high intensity running had really done wonders for me and I finished in 57 minutes and 16 seconds, not my best but then I did have a slow start.

Tom was waiting with a bottle of water, a blanket to conserve heat and a kiss (in that order). I felt all gross and sweaty but he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. 

“You were marvellous love! I’m so proud of you!” He kissed me and then murmured in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you in the shower,” with a lascivious grin. 

I laughed back. 

Once I'd cooled down and the cameras had lost interest for the moment, I cleaned up using baby wipes and changed the blanket for a fleecy and jogging pants, wishing I had time to slip away for that shower right now. Alas, I had to wait for poor old Berlin to stagger across the line. It turned out I might have had time, since Berlin took 116 minutes and 51 seconds, so he must have walked most of it, and despite being in the second group to leave, he finished with the last. 

He looked like a mess too, so breathless he could hardly talk and so exhausted that he laid on the ground as soon as he staggered over the finish line. The first aiders were on him in seconds, making sure he was okay, but he was just shattered, not unwell. 

The press hovered around him rather like a pack and they reminded me a little of the paparazzi we’d encountered a few days ago, so Tom and I stood well back and waited for Berlin to come to us. After about ten minutes, he did, bottle of water in hand and a blanket clutched around his shoulders. Tom stood behind me and slightly to the side, backing me up but not interfering. 

“They tell me you did it in under an hour?” Berlin said limping as he approached. Looked to me like he’d pulled a hamstring.

“I did. I love running,” I said with a grin, well aware that we were being filmed.

He looked slightly sick, but mustered his courage up and spoke. “I uh, I said some hurtful and untrue things about you, and I shouldn’t have.” 

He held his hand out, presumably for a truce shake. 

“Will you stop writing about me, like we agreed?” It was the only one of my terms he would agree to.  “No-” 

I don’t know if he saw the sudden violent rage I felt reflected on my features, or if he just wasn’t as stupid as he looked, but he rushed on.  “But I will stop insulting you.” 

I supposed that was the important thing. 

“Fine, I’ll agree to that, as long as you attend the bullying awareness course.” 

He hesitated then nodded. “Okay… and I’m sorry.” 

The apology was unexpected. “Thank you.” I took his hand. “And I know it feels like you want to be sick and that you’ll never take another step without pain, but in good news, my Just Giving page raised nearly ten thousand dollars for charity, so something really great did come of this. You’ll feel better in a day or two” I couldn’t resist adding. 

Berlin nodded, but the silence stretched on a moment longer than was comfortable. 

“You should go do a cool down,” I said, to which he agreed and turned away, the cameras following him, asking questions. The man was humiliated, limping with pain, and soaking wet, so I thought the cameras revelling in his embarrassment was a little much, but he wasn’t afraid to kick others when they were down, so maybe this would teach him some humility, but I still felt sorry for him. 

“Berlin?” I called, and he looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for being a good sport about this.” 

He gave a nod of acknowledgement and as he turned away, Tom put an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple saying, “Come on, let’s get you home. I’m going to wash my conquering heroine!” 

Tom, Luke and I were followed by the reporters for a while but they quickly lost interest and returned to finish line. 

“Luke?” I looked over to Tom’s acerbic friend and publicist. “Thanks for all the work you put into this.” 

“It’s what I get paid for,” he brushed my thanks aside. 

“I know, but thanks anyway.” I leaned my head on Tom’s shoulder and smiled to myself. 

This was shaping up to be a great year. 

*** 

The Sunday night was the Satellite Awards but as a treat, Tom arranged for us both to have a spa day. I rolled up to the red carpet that night feeling relaxed and happy. 

Tom didn’t win but he seemed resigned to that now and just enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the event, not to mention the after parties. I was having a whale of a time as well. 

The next morning Tom and I went for a run again. That afternoon we were set to appear on the Ellen Show. I was thrilled, I’ve always loved her comedy, and I enjoyed every second of the experience. 

We got there to find that Berlin had pulled out, but honestly I half expected that. I'd browsed Twitter and Tumblr this morning and so many people seemed to be revelling in his defeat that I’d have had trouble showing my face, if I were him. 

We watched Ellen’s monologue from the green room and I laughed along, then we were being ushered into the wings and it suddenly hit me that I was about to go on TV! 

Tom must have seen the panic on my face as he took my hands and looked into my eyes. 

“It’s okay, she’s going to love you, just breathe. In… And out… In… And out…” 

Just breathing when he said helped my nerves and the kiss he gave me helped even more when the assistant urged us out of the wings, I felt okay… ish. 

Ellen was great and began the interview by focusing on Tom, the Academy Awards next weekend, his nominated movie, and our marriage, slowly shifting the focus more onto me and giving me a few softball questions. 

When it was my turn, she began by explaining my feud with Berlin and showing some of his articles with his insults highlighted, and the doodles he’d done on my pictures, insulting me. She showed my tweets, challenging him, then footage from the race on Saturday. I had crossed the line with my arms raised in victory, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

“I mean look at that,” Ellen said as film of Berlin staggering over the line was played, then still pictures of us crossing were put side by side. “He is just a picture of misery, while you look fresh as a daisy.” 

“Thank you,” I blushed. 

“I take it you’re a regular runner?” 

“Generally speaking I try to run 5 miles, three or four times a week, and I normally try to do at least two 10K charity runs a year, which means I’ll run at least five times a week while I prepare. It just gives me the kick I need not to slack off too much.” 

“But you didn’t have much notice for this, did you?” 

“Just a couple of days, but I’ve been running more since I met Tom just because when he isn’t filming, it’s something we like to do together.”

“Now,” she turned to her audience. “Berlin had agreed to be on the show today but for some reason, he backed out this morning.” The audience booed him, which helped me relax a bit.

“Now moving on,” she turned back to me, “what message do you want people to take away from this, that it’s okay to be overweight?” 

“It is okay! But I’m not promoting being overweight, I’m promoting being healthy and happy at any size.” 

“So what happened towards the end of last year?” Ellen asked “Because we can’t help noticing that you lost a lot of weight.” She showed pictures of me looking slim and miserable. 

This was going to be the hardest bit for me, reliving those months. I gave Tom a small smile when he took my hand and squeezed it. 

“I did, because I’m only human and sometimes I fail to live up to my own beliefs. My Mum died last year, so I was in a low place to begin with, then I suddenly found that I was being attacked from all sides, and for the heinous crime of daring to be fat and married to a beautiful man,” I smiled at Tom, he grinned back and went a bit pink, “and suddenly that became the most important thing about me. Nothing else mattered, not my brain, my personality, my dreams, my good deeds, nothing, and it felt as if everyone was saying that my weight was the thing that made me all wrong for Tom. It hurt, and it continued to hurt, until eventually I caved; I thought that if I just lost the weight, people would leave me alone, but they didn’t. I lost more and more weight, I became almost ‘worthy’ of Tom in other people’s eyes, but I have never felt more miserable or more alone.” 

“A newlywed who feels lonely. That’s never a good sign,” Ellen noted. 

“It was my fault, because I began to believe I was unworthy, so I pushed him away.” 

Tom squeezed my hand in solidarity. 

“But things are better now, right? Because in the green room, you two looked like you were on your honeymoon.” 

“We’re good,” Tom assured her, looking down softly into my eyes. 

“So, just so we’re clear, you don’t hate thin people like me?” 

“Not at all! Five percent of the population are naturally skinny, and for them that’s healthy. The rest who try to achieve that look, do so by undereating, and that’s unhealthy.” 

“So you think it’s better to over eat than under eat?” 

“Definitely, because when you’re under-eating you’re malnourished and not getting all the nutrients your body needs to repair itself. Besides, I’ve known a lot of thin and slim women who actually eat a terrible diet and wouldn’t know a vegetable if it mugged them! And many of them haven’t run anywhere since they were kids.” 

“That’s a good point,” Ellen notes. “No one ever asks me what I eat or if I exercise, they just assume I’m healthy, and let me tell you, especially when I was younger, sometimes I ate little other than breakfast cereal and chips!” 

“Right, which is why this focus on ‘health’,” I air-quoted, “is just an excuse to hate on fat people! You know, especially since studies prove that people in the overweight category of the BMI chart have a greater chance of surviving a chronic illness than people in the so-called healthy weight category. There is something seriously wrong with a society that tells you to be a weight that you have a greater chance of dying at!” 

“Is that true?” 

“Absolutely!” I nodded vigorously. I knew my facts when it came to body image. 

“So you’re saying we could all do with a few extra pounds?” Ellen teased. 

“No, I’m saying we come in all shapes and sizes! I don’t understand why we accept that penicillin can save thousands of lives, yet is deadly to a certain percentage of people, but we can’t accept that people have different metabolisms and can be healthy at different weights. We don’t tell short people they need to be taller to be healthy, we just accept that people come in different sizes vertically! But when it’s horizontally, we freak out. It’s the same thing, we can make general rules for healthful living, but what’s right for one person isn’t necessarily right for another.” 

“So you’re promoting more diversity?” 

“Exactly! I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being rail thin. If that’s your natural body type, then it is, and you shouldn’t be shamed for it. The problem is with a society that promotes being rail thin as the only way to way to be beautiful. I think you look great but then, I also think I look great, and I know a lot of other people think I look great but more importantly, I feel great! I feel strong and healthy and vital and happy. I refuse to feel shame for that and I want all women to feel that way, regardless of how big or small they are!”

“I think she looks beautiful too,” Tom added, leaning over and dropping a kiss on my cheek. 

“Aww,” Ellen cooed. “He’s so sweet.” 

“Should I be jealous?” I teased. 

Tom laughed but Ellen nodded. “Definitely! You need to keep him on a very short leash. I’d definitely go straight for him, if you know what I mean!” She winked dramatically at me, then made bedroom eyes at Tom, who reciprocated, blowing kisses at her. 

I sat forward in my seat. 

“Now hold on just one minute!” I interrupted, sounding miffed. “I just have one thing to say.” I waited until they both looked at me to continue. “Threesome?”

Tom burst out laughing and Ellen applauded me for a few seconds before she turned to the camera and did her pre-commercial break spiel. Tom took the opportunity to lean over for a kiss, which I was happy to supply. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The night of the academy awards, Luke was having to chase us both up for running late. In my defence I had bought some rather stunning (of slightly painful) underthings, including a corset which did wonders for my breasts.

I knew as soon as I saw the look on Tom’s face that I was fighting a losing battle and besides, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to win. I had to try though. 

He locked the door and advanced on me, wearing only socks, his boxers and an open shirt. I held my hand up in the universal sign for ‘stop’ but he didn’t heed it.

“We don’t have time,” I argued. 

He didn’t reply. 

“Luke will kill us if we’re late.”

He was close enough now that I had to back away.

“If he has a coronary, on your head be it.” 

He looked up from my breasts and met my eye. “Deal.” 

I let him catch me and he backed me up against the wall, kissing me until I could hardly remember my name, let alone that we had a prior commitment. Luckily this wasn’t slow and sensual, this was quick and dirty. 

He pushed my panties off my hip until they pooled around my ankles and I scrabbled at his boxers, feeding his length through the opening, then he lifted me up and lowered me onto his cock. 

I gasped as he entered me and although I didn’t have the wherewithal to consider it at the time, it was probably best that we were standing since my hair was in a sophisticated updo that would have been ruined by a bed or pillow. 

“Fuck me, Thomas!” I growled, and he did, hard, fast and with the minimum finesse, but by the time he came inside me, I was well and truly fucked. 

Someone tried the door handle. 

“Tom, you in there?” 

It was Luke. Tom and I shared a look and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. 

“Tom!”

“Mac’s not decent,” he called. “Be out in a second!” 

I gasped and hit his shoulder “You’re the indecent one, mister!” I hissed. 

He slipped out and lowered me to the ground, stealing a kiss before he stepped away. 

“We’re going to be late!” Luke yelled. 

I bent down for my panties, then ran into the bathroom to take care of things. Men never consider the clean-up, do they? Luckily Tom had contrived not to muss my makeup. Much. A fresh application of lipstick took care of the damage. I reminded myself to check Tom’s collar for stains. My hair was remarkably intact too.

When I exited Tom was in his tuxedo, although his bow tie was undone, and he was holding my dress out, ready for me. It was a stunning, pale blue chiffon number with loads of asymmetrical layers. It was all billowy and ethereal and I adored it. I stepped into it and he pulled it up, placed the spaghetti straps (and a kiss) on my shoulder, then he slowly did the zip up at the back, as if reluctant to clothe me.

Luke pounded on the door and must be using a closed fist by now. 

“The car is here! We have to go! Either open this door or I’ll knock it down!”

Tom stole a quick, chaste kiss, then went to let Luke in while I stepped into my ridiculously pretty strappy shoes. 

“Luke darling, that large stick up your arse surely can’t be good for your health!” I murmured as I passed a fuming Luke in the hallway.

He fumed for the entire car ride but I didn’t care. I was going to the Oscars, what did one disgruntles publicist compare to that?

As expected, the Academy Awards were amazing, literally a dream come true. The glitz, the glamour, the entertainment, then the after parties, for an extrovert like me, it was heaven. I could dine out on the stories from that evening for at least a year.

The red carpet was long and packed with some of the biggest stars of the day. 

George Clooney smiled at me and I smiled back. ‘ _I hope you can see this, Mum,_ ’ I thought, because she’d always had a soft spot for George, ever since his days on ER all those years ago.

Emma Thompson was there too, and made a beeline for me when she saw me, kissing both cheeks and promising we’d catch up at the governor’s after party. I was so pleased that she remembered me. 

When I spotted Channing Tatum I leaned over to Tom. 

“I just had a thought,” I whispered, “You should do a stripper movie.” 

“Like Showgirls?” he sounded confused. 

“No,” I laughed, “Like Magic Mike.” 

Realisation dawned and he shook his head in exasperation at me. 

The only low point was when an interviewer asked Tom about his next film, and I remembered that he was flying out to Australia to film to film Thor 3 soon. I had got used to having him around and that house was going to feel awfully empty without him. 

I’d always known what his career was though and besides, I wasn’t going to turn into a nagging wife, always asking why he wasn’t at home more. Anyway, I suspect you have to be a real wife before you can get away with that. 

Tom introduced me to Mark Ruffalo that night. His movie, Spotlight, was nominated and he was also starring in Thor 3. 

The ceremony itself was brilliant, with plenty of entertainment and jokes to keep the audience interested.

One year it was pizza, then girl scout cookies. This year our host, Steve Martin, had decided it was ice cream, and he had four ladies dressed in 50s usherette garb going around, selling small tubs of ice cream for charity, using those old fashioned vending trays with a strap that goes behind the neck. 

I knew exactly what to do and since my purse was only large enough for my compact, lipstick, an emergency tampon and credit card, I asked Tom for his wallet. He looked puzzled but handed it over none the less. I slipped past him and into the aisle as the usherette got close and when she turned to me, I counted out every note he had into her hand (it totalled about $115 but the host had the money was for charity) then took the tray from her. 

Luckily, she played along and handed the stock over with no problem. 

“Well I must say, Mrs Hiddleston seems to have rather a sweet tooth and is of the ‘more is more’ school of thought,” Steve Martin said as he drew attention to my gluttony, which had been the whole point of my stunt, to show that not only was I not afraid to eat in public, I wasn’t even afraid to overeat in public. Take that, shamers!

I say back down with my haul and smacked Tom’s hand away when he reached for a tub.

“Ooh, she’s dominant too. Something tells me Mrs H wears the pants in the bedroom, if you know what I mean!” Steve grinned.

I gave Tom my best dominant glare, playing along with the joke and don’t ask me how he did it, but he suddenly looked meek and submissive. 

As soon as the camera turned in another direction and the opening monologue moved away from the ice cream, I began passing them out to everyone around us. 

A helpful awards minion appeared from somewhere and relieved me of the tray, which was nice, and Tom and I enjoyed the show as we tucked into our ice cream. 

I spotted the camera heading our way again so I went to feed Tom a spoonful of my ice cream, but at the last minute, snatched it back and ate it myself. 

He gave me the puppy dog eyes, on international television no less, so I hope you all now have some appreciation for how hard it is to be mean to this man. I held out for ten seconds, then artfully dropped a little onto my left breast.

Tom’s eyes stopped being cute and became positively feral. The camera swooped past us just as he was lowering his head. 

In the end he didn’t lick it off and Jennifer Anniston passed me a tissue which I used to wipe it away (just in time too, it was millimetres from the dress). 

“You should smear some around his lips,” Jennifer told us, and we shared an evil smile as I thanked her.

The next time the camera made it near us, Tom lower lip was smeared with chocolate ice cream and his eyes were hooded in an impression of post coital-bliss. I’d lowered one of my straps, ruffled my fringe up (I could easily right it) and tried my best to look ravaged. 

“Hiddleston seems to have already had his Award this evening.” Steve trailed off suggestively.  Tom looked smug and settled his arm around my shoulder, ostentatiously licking his lips. 

A couple of the presenters made jokes about our antics for the rest of the night too, but we were well behaved after that as the actual presenting of the awards began.

When the Best Actor category came up, I crossed my fingers and prayed for a miracle, but it wasn’t to be. Tom didn’t seem too perturbed but I know he had put his heart and soul into his performance, and I was disappointed that all his hard work was not to be recognised. 

These awards were also why he married me, so that his Las Vegas marriage didn’t hurt his chances too much, so I couldn’t help feeling that perhaps it was a little bit my fault.

We drank more than we should have at the after party and danced ourselves to the brink of exhaustion and to be honest, I have no memory of getting home that night, outside of a lot of drunken giggling... 

We awoke around noon, both worse for wear and suffering for our over indulgence, so we had a quiet day at home. I cooked us a fry up for lunch, just what a hangover needs, and we both did a little yoga in the afternoon, just so we didn’t feel completely unhealthy. Then we settled on the sofa to watch a few movies.

“I'm sorry,” I finally found the courage to say. I think I was afraid he’d blame me for his loss. 

“What for?” He looked puzzled. 

“That you didn’t win.” 

“It’s disappointing, but my odds were only ever one in five.”

“I know, but you put everything you had into that film.” 

He smiled and patted his thigh. I moved to lie down, my head resting on his thigh but on my back so I could look up at him. 

“I’ve got plenty of time,” he assured me. 

“I know. And you will win one day, you’re too good an actor not to. I’ll be furious if they make you wait as long as di Caprio!” He smiled and pressed play on the remote, so I turned onto my side so I could see the screen. 

Tom’s thighs made a wonderful pillow, and he seemed to like playing with my hair, so we often sat like this. I hadn’t slept well the night before, I never do when I drink too much and we hadn’t got home until nearly 6am, and lying here, with Tom rhythmically stroking his fingers through my hair, I dozed off. 

I woke up three hours later, my mouth feeling like I’d eaten a pile of ashes and my fuzzy head confused to see Al Pacino on screen. I was sure we’d been watching Macbeth when I dozed off. 

“How long was I out,” I groaned, turning onto my back and stretching. 

“Couple of hours,” he said, and as I sat up, he began massaging his leg. 

“Oh God!” I realised he’d been trapped, thanks to me, but I was kind of touched that he’d let his leg go to sleep rather than move and risk waking me. “I’m so sorry!” 

“Not to worry,” Tom paused the film and smiled at me. “And it is now after 7pm, so I think we can go for hair of the dog without seeming like a couple of lushes.”

“I _just_ woke up,” I laughed, although I did still have a slight headache. “But what the hell, I’m sure you won’t tell on me.”

“Scouts honour!” He got to his feet, stretched, and hobbled to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two glasses, a bottle of red wine, a bottle of water for me, and a wad of takeout menus. 

As we bickered over what takeout went best with red wine, I suddenly had the thought that if this was domesticity, then sign me up. 

***

A few days after that we returned to the UK and I set about finding an agent for my book. Tom offered to ask Luke for a recommendation but even if he did know literary agents, I didn’t really want Luke’s unloving fingers on any part of my work! I did my research, then wrote to my top five choices. To tempt them, I also let them know I had two offers from publishers and possibly someone interested in optioning the rights.

I had meetings with the three I liked best and I eventually chose a woman named Lucy Rose. Her name might be flowery but her reputation was as a Pitbull and her client list was impressive. I felt I was lucky to get her. 

Tom was leaving in two weeks and would be away for three months. He had a few promotional duties during that time but none of them were in the UK. 

“I won’t know what to do with myself, rattling around this house on my own,” I teased him as we cleaned up after dinner one evening. Steak in pepper sauce and a jacket potato, followed by rice pudding. Tom cooked the steaks but I had made the dessert. 

“You can throw house parties,” he joked. 

“Those old Yellow Pages ads put me off illicit parties,” I teased. And it was true, the footage of the mess the kids had to clean up before their parents got home had scared me way more than those old public information films had, although they too had left their mark, scaring children and adults into good behaviour. 

“Redecorate,” he suggested.

“I can't tell my biscuit from my oatmeal.”

“Take up knitting.”

“And knit myself some friends?” I laughed.

“Start a book club.”

“A stripper club sounds like more fun.”

His eyes flashed when I said that.

“You’ll just have to come with me then,” he replied flippantly, taking a sip of wine. 

I laughed and we closed the dishwasher and headed into the lounge. 

“I’m serious, you know,” he told me. 

“The awards season is over,” I reminded him of the only reason we were even together. 

“I know,” he shrugged as he sat beside me. “But we’ve got four odd months left and we like each other, so why not come? I could bring a real wife or girlfriend with me.”

That ‘real’ hurt more than it should but I managed not to flinch.

“Have you ever been to Australia?” he asked. 

“No.” 

“Would you like to?” 

“I always thought I’d get to it one day.” 

“Then come with me. I’m not the star of ‘Thor’, I’m a supporting actor so I’ll probably be off at least half the time. And we’ll be staying in luxury that I know you wouldn’t justify paying for yourself.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You need to come with a warning label,” I told him. 

“Why?” he laughed. 

“Because you’re far too tempting. Just promise me you’ll never go into politics, it’s not fair to the other politicians.” 

“No worries there,” he grinned. “Now stop changing the subject, will you come?” 

“I’m tempted but I’ve only just got an agent and once I get a contract, there’ll be editing to do, maybe even a few rounds, and I still have to finish editing the Eleanor of Aquitaine manuscript and send it out.”

“Okay,” he took a moment to digest that mouthful. “Well, you have an agent now. She’ll handle the sale of your next book too, and you can email the manuscript to her from anywhere. Same for editing, it’s all digital and you can do it here, in my tiny back garden, or on the balcony in our luxury apartment, with a view over the ocean, in Australia.”

He was right, I could do most things by email. 

“What if my editor wants to meet me again?” 

“Phone or skype,” he shrugged. “Besides you won’t be away forever, just three months.” 

I had sort of reconciled myself to using these three months to get over Tom, a sort of trial separation if you will, then by the time we were due to separate I’d be used to being on my own. His offer was so tempting though, and the Gold Coast looked lovely. Plus, I only had another four months with Tom and as the saying goes, you only live once, so rather than protecting myself against future pain, maybe I should just live in the moment and squeeze as much enjoyment from these final months as I could. 

Besides, I’d never been on a film set before. As a writer I was keen to learn and experience new things and as an extravert, there was certainly a diverse group of people on a film set that I could befriend and learn from. 

“Okay,” I grinned. “I’d love to.” 

Tom’s answering grin made my heart skip a beat. I loved making him happy. 

He pulled me onto his lap, making me shriek since I wasn’t expecting it, then we were both laughing. 

“You are a bad influence on me,” I teased. 

“Oh, I am,” he agreed. 

“Very bad,” I said, my laughter slowing and my gaze locked on his lips.

“Very bad indeed.” He agreed before he kissed me but it ended far too soon for my liking. “In fact,” he moved me into a bridal carry and stood up. “Why don’t I take you upstairs and corrupt you a little more?” 

“Stop it!” I cried, half laughing, half worried. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Me? I’m fit as a fiddle! More than strong enough to lift a sylph like you.”

He certainly seemed steady as he climbed the stairs, so I put my arms around his neck and gave him my best doe eyes. 

“My big, strong hero,” I said in a girlish voice, batting my eyelashes at him.

***

Before we left I had emailed my agent the second draft of my Eleanor of Aquitaine manuscript.

Assuming she would be able to sell it, I knew there would be more edits, my work to date had just been to make it more saleable. I’d shaved 100 pages and was prepared that I might have to cut more. All in all though, I thought it was much improved on my first draft. `

I’d also signed a three book contract for my thriller book. I might not have to write two more sequels but if the first one sold well, I was obligated to write one thriller per year for the next two years. I was looking forward to it actually. I wasn’t paid anything upfront, the days of advances for new writers were long past, but my agent had worked out a decent deal on royalties for a new author. My deal for the second and third books (assuming the publishing house wanted them) was even better.

She was also handling the optioning for me and would send me the paperwork when she was finished. That deal actually went against me in negotiations and was part of the reason I wasn’t getting an advance. 

I also visited Colchester to see my Aunt and cousins; I took them all out to dinner and told them about my book contract, so now I was able to go to Australia guilt free.

I tried to make it to Colchester about once a month, although occasionally they came to London, to see the Christmas lights for example, so had saved me a journey and I usually took them out to dinner and insisted on paying. To begin with I took them to the most expensive restaurants, viewing it as repaying them for everything they had done for Mum and I when I was growing up.

Obviously, being a one parent family, we weren’t exactly rich. Mum found a job that paid our bills but it didn’t leave us much extra, even with government help, so we tended to buy our clothes at charity shops and if we had a treat, like a cinema trip or a meal out, we always went off peak or had some sort of money off voucher. As she worked her way up in the firm her pay increased and so things eased as I got older, but we were still frugal. Our holidays were all in the UK until I was 17, and we often went with my aunt’s family so we could share the costs.

During those years, many of my luxuries had actually come from my Anna’s family. My first denim jacket (trust me, they were the height of fashion in the 80s) had been a gift from them, and my first Adidas trainers. Our first VCR came from them too. Granted, they were almost all hand me downs, the jacket and trainers my cousin had grown out of, and they were upgrading to a newer VCR player so gave us their old one, but they weren’t exactly rolling in money so we accepted these things gratefully.

I still remember borrowing my very first VHS tape from the video store and sitting before the TV, marvelling at the luxury. It seems foolish in this day and age of Netflix and on-demand services, but back then the home video recorder had been a massive step forward. Mum and I were about five year behind the times too, we didn’t get one until about 1988, I think, but that hadn’t dulled the experience at all.

My attempt to repay their generosity backfired however. They just didn’t like expensive restaurants, finding them intimidating and frankly, some of the prices angered them, so I’d learned my lesson and I took them to their favourite places now, which coincidentally used to be my favourite places, so it was no hardship for me. Tom wasn’t at all pretentious either, and had no problems dining wit us at Pizza Express.

I was sad to be leaving them for three months, especially since skyping wasn’t easy with the time difference, and I offered them a chance to come out and visit, but they refused. Considering how kind they’d been to me and Mum, they had serious trouble taking ‘charity’ themselves.

We took a three months rental on a small, two bed house in Australia. It’s not that the hotel where the crew were staying wasn’t nice, but you can’t really feel at home in a hotel. And besides, I didn’t think the kitchen staff would appreciate accommodating my baking sessions, and I certainly wouldn’t appreciate not being able to bake for three months. Something about baking calms and focuses me.

Some of the other Thor actors took houses too but most of the crew worked such long hours that they preferred the hotel, with its onsite restaurants, daily cleaning and a laundry service. 

The Gold Coast had become a bit of a mecca for film crews recently, so they had studios where the sets could be built and of course what attracted the films crews here in the first place; plenty of lovely scenery for location shooting. The Thor production was using a mixture of sets and locations. 

We had a few days to settle in before the real work began and we decided to take surfing lessons. I had a beautiful new bikini and I didn’t care who photographed me, it looked amazing! So what if I looked like Jane Russell?

It took me a while to earn my sea legs and on that first lesson, I think five seconds was the maximum I spend on the board before I was dumped into the sea.

Tom took t it with ease, the bloody bastard, so he spent most of that lesson worrying about me.

I swallowed more ocean than was probably good for me, and salt up my nose is not something I ever want to experience ever again, but Tom’s protectiveness was cute in hindsight. At the time I’d just slapped his hands away and told him I was fine, not wanting to draw attention to my ineptitude.

I was greatly improved by the next lesson. Well, I went from five seconds to thirty, but that exponential improvement continued until I was eventually riding the waves all the way back to shore (all right, I admit, that did take me six lessons to accomplish).  

Tom’s friend, Chris, arrived two days after us and they were renting a house nearby. Since we’d had a chance to settle in and shop, we invited them around for dinner on their first night. Mark was alone and staying in the hotel, who were perfectly able to cater to his needs but we invited him too, so the old Marvel crew were back together. 

It felt really strange to be having a barbeque in March but the weather here was just too gorgeous to sit inside. 

Chris’s wife, Elsa was lovely and their three children were adorable. They had a nanny with them (I think that with three kids under 5, having a nanny ought to be law!) and she was young but very sweet and friendly, and had clearly been with them for a while. 

Tom greeted them both with hugs and kisses, including the kids, then he introduced me. 

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” Elsa told me.

“It is,” Chris agreed. “I didn’t think we’d ever get this one settled down, too attached to his career!” 

If they knew that the only reason we were still married was because of his career, to protect his image, they might not be so pleased with me.

I pushed such morbid thoughts aside though and poured them some drinks, then we headed to the back garden and sat on the shaded terraced area. 

As the conversation was dominated by catching up on each other’s lives and I realised that aside from running into each other at events and doing press junkets, Tom and Chris hadn’t really seen each other since 2012, when they filmed the last Thor movie and he hadn’t seen Mark since 2012. They all quickly fell into an easy rapport again but it occurred to me that even being such good friends, Tom and Chris wouldn’t be meeting now if not for the Marvel franchise. 

Tom had a group of friends in London, of course, unfortunately many of them were also actors and thus, prone to be out of the country at any given moment. How strange it must be to constantly be meeting new people and making new friends, only to leave them behind after three months. 

I knew Tom led a bit of a nomadic life but it hadn’t occurred to me until now, just how lonely that must feel at times. 

Our garden led onto the beach and I watched Tom and little India wander down the beach, hand in hand, carrying sand tools and buckets, chattering away. They settled on the wet sand, not far above the receding tide, and proceeded to build a grand castle, arguing about turrets and moats, and what to use for a drawbridge.

Chris and Elsa took the other kids down to the water’s edge and paddled around in a few inches, the babies squealing when a new wave came in and splashed their toes, giggling madly.

Mark and I sat peaceably on the deck with beers in hand, watching all this.  He sighed wistfully.

“They’re so much fun at this age…”

“You have kids?” I idly picked at the label on my beer bottle, watching as Chris tossed a laughing child high in the air, catching him safely and blowing razzberries on his tummy.

“Yeah.  Three of ‘em! They’re all too old for Dad to blow kisses on their tummies, though!” He laughed at the idea.

“They didn’t come with you?” I asked, curiously.

“No, school is in session, so they needed to stay home.  Spring break is coming soon, though!” He brightened. “Maybe they’ll all come spend vacation here at the beach with me. Sunny and I decided long ago that the kids need the stability of staying in place during the school year, but they usually come visit me wherever I am during summer break.” 

He picked at his own bottle, giving me a little side-eye.

“So… Have you and Tom talked about becoming parents?”

I choked on my swallow of beer and spluttered, coughing.  Mark patted my back worriedly as I turned bright red.

“No... not yet.” I rasped, smiling as I wiped at the tears on my face, pretending they were entirely from my coughing fit.

“Well,” he nodded sagely, “you have plenty of time.”

I stood abruptly. 

“You know, I think I have just the thing for that drawbridge!”

I sprinted into the house to my luggage and pawed around, sniffling, looking for the silly sparkly pencils my young cousins had given me for writing more books. I was not going to spend any time thinking about Tom’s potential children!

I found the pencils and hurried back outside to find that Mark had joined Chris at the water’s edge.

I took the pencils over to Tom and India and squatted on the sand next to them, showing them the pencils.

“What do you think? Should your drawbridge be a ‘rainbow bridge’? Will these do?”

India clapped her hands, delighted.

“Yes, please!” She took them from me and carefully placed them over the moat.

I glanced up where Tom sat back on his heels, his sandy hands resting on his thighs, and I caught the soft, sweet look in his eyes as he watched India adjust the pencils to form planks.

“Thank you, Mac.  They’re perfect!” He reached up and caught the back of my neck, dragging me into a playful kiss. 

“Eww, Uncle Tom! No kissing! Look, you knocked over the curtain wall just there! Fix it!” India demanded Tom’s attention.

“Yes, Ma’am! Fixing it, Ma’am!” Tom threw her a salute and me a rueful grin, and went back to work.

I went to check on the food, and shortly everyone gravitated back to the deck complaining of empty stomachs. I handed out biscuits to tide them over, and then Tom and Chris turned all caveman and lit far too big a fire in the grill, nearly singing Tom’s eyebrows in the process.

I was in the middle of gushing over Spotlight to Mark, and likening it to a modern day Watergate, but I decided that the boys probably needed his maturity more than I needed to gush, so I let him go and help them, while I fetched the fire extinguisher from the kitchen, just in case. 

The food was late, slightly overcooked but still tasty, and I’d made plenty of accompaniments, like potato salad, beetroot coleslaw, a cucumber, pepper and tomato salad and baked potatoes, so no one went hungry. 

As the sun faded, the nanny took the kids home, and I brought out my lemon cheesecake, which was made with my secret ingredient of Limoncello liqueur. They liked it so much that I ended up promising to make extra of anything else I baked. It’s nice to be appreciated for something I do well, rather than how I look.

***

Tom had to work couple of days in our second week since they needed him for things such as fittings, hair and makeup tests and the read through, but after that they were beginning with the location scenes with Mark and Chris, meaning Tom and I got to be tourists for a little longer. Tom generally dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans and when he added a baseball cap and sunglasses (which were mostly a necessity in this ridiculously sunny country) then he hardly ever got recognised. Not even when we went to Movie World. I teased him that it was because they had DC comic rides so no one here had seen the Avengers. 

We also did the SkyPoint climb to the observation deck, 230 metres high at the top of the Q1 building , we went hiking in Springbrook National Park, browsed a beachfront market, and discovered some lovely restaurants. Mostly we went alone but on the weekend everyone seemed keen on our recommendations, so we ended up taking a party of fifteen to Dracula's Cabaret Restaurant on the Saturday night.

Tom, Giant goof that he is, kept doing a Transylvanian accent all night, telling me he ‘vanted to suck my blood’. He never did get to do that, but he did suck on my neck later that night, leaving me with an embarrassing hickey! I haven’t had a hickey since I was 18!

Tom was filming the next week but my new editor has sent me through a list of amendments she’d like me to do on my thriller, so I really did need to get back to work. I kept the surfing lessons up three times a week, it was fantastic exercise and great fun, then on the other days I went for a run on the beach in the mornings.  

In the afternoons I got to work on my manuscript and plot outlines for my next thriller, and about two evenings a week, I baked. 

Tom worked long hours when he was on set, and considering that he spent two hours in hair and makeup in the morning, and about an hour to get it all off before coming home. I could perfectly understand why they worked such hours. I did feel bad for him though, so I tried to have a bubble bath ready, or give him a massage before bed, or just have a nice single malt over ice ready and waiting. He seemed to appreciate my efforts, minimal though they were. 

Some days, usually when he had a fight scene or wire work, he all but fell straight into bed, but most of the time he was more communicative. 

On the weekends I took it upon myself to organise something fun for us and anyone else who wanted to come. We went jet skiing, followed by dinner at a boat themed restaurant. We took a picnic to South Stradbroke Island, where the wallabies would come up to us and steal our food. We visited a casino, a trampoline park, and a water jetpack flying thing, which they call jet boarding and was both exhilarating and terrifying. We watched the Australian Outback Spectacular, which was a cross between a horse show and a cabaret, then we had a day at the races, and took a boat day trip.

I missed him when he was gone but it gave me the kick I needed to get my work done, and while I appreciated having Tom around when he was at home but it wasn’t as if I was pining for him, I knew how to entertain myself and I’d made other friends among the crew and through my surfing lessons. If I had a little free time I often slipped over to Elsa’s house, Chris’s wife, and shared a tea or coffee with her. Her kids were adorable but they did rather limit her, even with a nanny. 

I went to the set with Tom on a couple of occasions, I even played an Asgardian extra in a crowd scene, and I thoroughly enjoyed my glimpse into acting. 

***

Five weeks after we arrived, I received a copy of my optioning contract from my agent. Tom was at work that day but he had the next three off, so I secreted the envelope away until tomorrow. 

We enjoyed a lie in the next day, then we made love before having a leisurely breakfast. After that I took Tom to a beachfront market I’d found and we browsed there for a couple of hours, before returning home for the evening. 

I was cooking, just a simple pasta dish, and when we’d finished I casually asked, “Hey, have you got five dollars?” 

I didn’t usually ask to borrow money so my request took him back for a second, but then he was pulling his wallet out and handing me a note. 

I took it, then I fetched the contract and handed it to him. 

His confusion deepened, and my too big smile probably looked creepy, which might not have helped matters but he opened it at my urging and pulled the papers out. 

“What is this?” he asked as he began reading. 

“It’s the rights to my book,” I grinned, unable to hold it in any longer. “They’re yours for the nominal charge of £5!”

“You asked for dollars.”

“Because we’re in Australia and the payment is just a legality. I’m giving you rights.”

He shook his head and turned to me. 

“I can’t, it’s not fair to you, I-”

I placed my hand over his mouth to cut him off. 

“It’s fair,” I told him. “Without you I would never have written the book, let alone sold it and got a three book deal. Plus, you’re being far more than generous with me,” I couldn’t bring myself to mention the divorce settlement we’d agreed, “so please, take it. This is my thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

His confusion cleared as I spoke, then he set the papers aside. 

“Thank you,” he said with sincerity, then he pulled me onto his lap. “I promise I will do your book justice.”

“Don’t do anything you wouldn’t normally do,” I cautioned him. “I’m not giving them to you to force you to make it, or to make it my way. Treat this like you would any other option rights and forget about who wrote it.”

He nodded but I could tell he wasn’t going to do that. Seriously, did this man have ANY flaws? I’d settle for just one. 

Was being too nice a flaw? 

“Thank you,” he told me, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me tenderly. He pulled away and looked into my eyes. “I…”

“What?”

“Just, I want to thank you. This is really such a sweet thing for you to do.”

I found myself joking, “I just want an excuse to talk to you after the divorce.” 

His face fell for a moment, then he composed himself. 

“We’ll remain friends,” he assured me. 

I knew why I’d said that, because some stupid, vain hope I'd had that his ‘I-’ was going to end in ‘love you’ and the fact it didn’t, hurt. I was passive aggressively reminding him that if he didn’t say something soon, we would be over in a few months. 

I could have said something, declared myself, and in a regular relationship I probably would have, but we’d set boundaries from the start here and Tom had never even hinted that he wanted to change that. I couldn’t put my heart on the line without being reasonably sure he reciprocated. 

An awkward silence descended over us, so I moved to straddle his lap and pulled my blouse off. Sex with Tom was a wonderful distraction. 

I was really going to miss it. 

***

About a week later I was working on my next thriller while Tom was at work when a delivery driver brought a bunch of flowers, which seemed exceptionally sweet. Tom had never sent me flowers before but I knew they had to be from him because anyone else would have included a message. 

I hoped that perhaps his feelings for me were going beyond friends with benefits and I took the flowers as a positive sign.

He’d had an easy day and wasn’t working the next day, so we stayed up late that evening and made rather love with enthusiasm that night. 

“Thank you for the flowers,” I said as we lay enjoying the afterglow. 

“Flowers?” 

“The bouquet you ordered, they came today.”

He didn’t reply and I raised my head off his shoulder to look at him. 

“I didn’t send flowers,” he said, looking confused, as if he might have forgotten he did. 

“Did your assistant or someone send them, then?”

“I’ll ask but I doubt it. I think it’s more likely you have an admirer on the crew.”

“Yeah, right.” I laughed and laid my head back down.

I was too tired to think much more about it and I soon drifted off to sleep. I didn’t notice until I thought back on it, how tense Tom became after that. 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven.

I awoke alone in bed the next morning but that wasn’t unusual these days, if Tom had an early start he tried not to wake me. 

It was a little odd considering that he had the day off but nothing to worry me, so I took my time waking up and heading downstairs, making a beeline for the kettle so I could get my tea as soon as humanly possible but as I stepped into the kitchen, I saw Tom sitting at the kitchen table looking slightly haggard, his hands wrapped around a coffee mug. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, thinking he might have been unwell in the night.

“I think you should sit down for this.” 

“For what?” I demanded. 

“I made your tea when I heard you were up and about.” He pointed to the tray on the end of the table, which had a pot of tea, a cup, milk and my sweeteners on it. 

Now I was starting to feel unsettled. This was not a normal, ‘sorry love, but I have to go into work’ talk. This was a ‘something horrible has happened to someone you love,’ talk.

I sat down, hoping he would start talking if I obeyed. 

He didn’t speak though, and my fears began to grow. 

“Tom, I swear to god if someone’s I hospital, and you’re sitting here thinking there’s a good way to tell me, then I swear to god-”

“No! God, no, no one’s hurt,” he cut me off and finally I was able to breathe again. 

“So what’s wrong then?” I knew it was something I didn’t want to hear, but I also knew I could deal with it.

“Do you remember those nasty letters you got? Last year?” Tom began.

“Yeah, I haven’t got any since Luke’s people started sorting my mail.”

“The letters have still been coming though,” he admitted. “Getting worse by all accounts.” 

“Okay… why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I wasn’t aware of the whole story myself. Luke spoke to me a couple of times, they were starting to threaten to harm you so he told me he was taking them to the police and hiring someone to see if he could track down who they came from. This was before Christmas though and given how low you felt, I didn’t feel any reason to upset you any more.”

I could understand that. “So what’s changed?”

“Luke mentioned in passing that she’d threatened to find out where we were staying, things she’d said in her letters and such. He had no proof and thought she was bluffing but he told me to keep my eyes open for anything unusual, just in case.”

“Like flowers with no card arriving?” 

“Exactly. After you went to sleep, I got on the phone to Luke and gave him the details of the florist.”

“What can he do overnight?” 

“Well, midnight here is 2pm in London, but we couldn’t do much until the florist here opened this morning. I telephoned at 8am, as soon as they opened, and I convinced her to give me the name on the order.”

“Okay.” 

“It’s Rowan Boyde.” 

That name meant nothing to me.

“She the one who was writing to you at our home address in the UK.”

I was confused. “Why would she send me flowers?” 

“Because deliveries are tracked and if you signed for them, she’d know you were living here.”

“Okay?” This wasn’t good news but it wasn’t exactly awful either.

“That’s not it.” he said, taking a sip of his coffee, then a deep breath. 

Now I knew it was nothing serious, I pulled my pot of tea over and began to make my cup. 

“The florist said the order was placed in person, she’s here, Mac. In Australia.” 

I finished pouring my tea and took a long, soothing sip. 

“Are you okay?” he asked me. 

“I’m fine.” 

“I’ve just told you that you have a stalker, I’m pretty sure you should be anything but ‘fine’.”

“Tom,” I almost smiled, but he was taking this so seriously that I daren’t. “My mother used to say that the only real tragedy in life is death, and she was right. This is not a tragedy, this is an annoyance, maybe an inconvenience. Whatever happens, I’m not going to hide away like I'm terrified of what she _might_ do.” 

“I’m not suggesting you do, just that we take some precautions.” 

“Like what?”

“Like setting the alarm when you’re here alone, not opening the door to strangers, any strangers. Having the police on speed dial; Luke has already told them what’s going on.”

“What? How? It’s got to be like 1am there!” I really did think they were making a mountain out of a molehill here. “She’s probably just some sad, sexually frustrated girl with boundary issues, and the chances of her harming me are very slim.”

“Even a chance is too high,” he informed me. “I just want you to be cautious.” 

I could see how worried he was, so I reached over and took his hand. 

“I will be,” I assured him. “I promise.”

He relaxed a fraction then and I smiled at him. 

“How can she even afford to be out here for three months?” I asked. “Most jobs don’t give you three months off, and I’m damn sure she can’t afford to come out here on benefits if she’s unemployed. What does she do, do you know?” 

“Luke emailed me the updated file last night. She was a team leader for an insurance company but she was fired at the end of January. Luke suspects she’s maxing out her credit cards.” He got up and collected a sheaf of papers from the printer. “This is everything.” 

“Do you think getting fired made her worse?” I asked as I accepted the pages and looked through them. Rowan Boyde was 31, an only child, married and divorced, no children. She was prettier than I expected. 

“Luke thinks so. Her letters had been every month, sometimes every fortnight but they became weekly, then twice weekly, then just before we left, daily.”

As I read about the publically (and some not so publically) known details of her life, she still seemed harmless. She was just an unhappy woman who was sharing her misery. She’d probably stop when she got a new job, and I said as much to Tom. 

I had no idea of the toll that having a stalker would actually take on me. 

***

I did my best to forget about my so-called stalker. I say so-called because she hadn’t actually done anything to harm me yet, and I honestly doubted she ever would; stalkers seem like cowards to me.

Our mail all went to the studio, simply because we didn’t want to give our home address out to strangers; once a postman and a few delivery drivers drop off things addressed to Tom Hiddleston, his address was as good as public domain. The flowers hadn’t bothered me because they were in my name and while my post sent on from the UK went to the studio, I hadn’t been so finicky about deliveries to me. 

That was, of course, the whole reason she was able to find us. I would refuse a delivery for Tom

Hiddleston because I’d been told to do so, but she’d sent her flowers to me instead. 

I’d thought that the rules wouldn’t apply to me because I’m a nobody.  

It began harmlessly enough, with the morning post delivering letters from her for both me and Tom. 

I skimmed mine and found it was full of the same old shit,

_Thought you could run away… escape my truth!… always find you!... don’t deserve him… cut your tendons… hobble you so you waddle like the hippo you are… see you flopping about in the ocean… whale… indecent bikini… stupid… hurt everyone you love…_

I sighed and stopped reading. Her criticisms bounced off me this time, she was clearly mentally unbalanced, yet she expected me to listen to her?

Even with this vile letter, I still doubted she’d do any of the things she threatened but as I was soon to discover, stalking isn’t about what they do to you, it’s about what they _might_ do. 

It’s insidious really, because once the idea is planted, it never goes away. 

It began small, of course. When I left the house, I’d wonder if she was watching. Did she watch us taking our surfing lessons? Did she follow us when we went hiking? How often was I being observed?

From her running away remarks, I assumed she thought I’d been reading her letters and had come to Australia to escape her harassment. 

Thought of her began to creep into my daily life as her power over me developed. I knew now that she watched my surfing lessons, so she probably watched me doing other things too. What? When? Could she see into the house too? The beach behind the house was private, shared by our row of five properties, but could she find a way in? What would she do next? 

I found my mind returning to these questions more often than I was comfortable with, and especially the last question. 

The thing that’s hard to understand until you’ve been stalked, is that it’s the not knowing that’s the killer. 

Your stalker, by virtue of stalking you, has already proved that if they aren’t crazy, they at least don’t play by the rules most people do. Then with her added threats, these weren’t your general angry person, ‘I will cut you’ threats. These were specific, planned, she’s put some thought into how she wanted to hurt me, like cutting my Achilles tendons. Seriously, who threatens that?

When dealing with someone like that, someone who thinks it’s alright to follow a stranger, to watch them and threaten them and their family, if they’ll break those taboos, what taboos won’t they break? How can you be sure they won’t do what they threaten? 

The mind, especially a writer’s mind, is fertile ground for such questions, especially since there was plenty of evidence that stalkers can and do kill. The odds of my stalker being a murderous one might be astronomically small, but it was still a possibility. 

Things escalated slowly, but they did escalate and with each advance in her behaviour, that nagging fear got a little bit larger. 

First the letters came daily, usually without one for Tom, just me. I put them, unopened, into a large C4 envelope, ready to take home and give to Luke, or to the authorities here if necessary. I refused to read them, although I was tempted. Reading them felt like letting her win. 

Next I thought I glimpsed her. Most of the time I’m sure it as my imagination playing tricks, but I know I saw her once, looking through a shop window at me. She glared for a moment when she saw me, then turned and walked away.

If it hadn’t been for the disgust on her face, she’d have looked pretty, I think. Her skin was quite tanned, her clothes were casual, and her dark hair worn up in a messy bun. There was nothing remarkable about her at all, except for the loathing in her eyes.

I considered following her, demanding to know what she was doing, or just punching her out so she’d know not to fuck with me, but I did neither. I was just so shocked to actually see her, not just a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, that I froze for a moment. They never tell you there’s a third option in stressful situation: fight, flight, or freeze. 

By the time I had my wits about me, she was gone.

Three days later, the house alarm went off while I was over at Elsa’s. Chris, on a rare day off, came back with me and checked the house over. Nothing seemed to have changed and the entrances and windows all seemed secure, so it looked like she hadn’t got in. 

But was it even her? There was no proof _she_ had set the alarm off, it could have been anything, a glitch, a breeze from the air conditioner moving something and setting a motion detector off. The possibilities of what could have done it were endless, but I was sure it had been her. 

She was making me paranoid.

A few mornings later Tom padded to the door in shorts and bare feet to pick up the paper as I went through to the kitchen to start tea.

“Shit!” I heard him swear and I called out. 

“Everything all right, Tom?”

I listened for a reply, and when it didn't come I veered off in his direction curiously.

“Tom?”

Tom stepped smartly through the door and shut it firmly behind him, looking grim. Alarmed, I rushed toward him and reached for him.

“What happened?” Abruptly he pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

“Tom!” My voice came out slightly breathless as he squeezed me fiercely. I heard him mumbling in my hair.

“You're okay. Thank God. Don't go out there, love.”

“What? Of course I’m ok! What’s wrong?? Dammit Tom!” I struggled to be let go, which he did, reluctantly, keeping his body firmly between me and the front door.

“There's... there's a couple of dead birds on the porch.”

I stopped trying to get to the door, my eyes jerking to his. I froze, my hand clutching my dressing gown closed. Time seemed to slow, marked by the blood draining out of my head and the suddenly loud thump of my heart in my ears. We both had a pretty good idea of how dead birds got there. My head spun.

“Mac. Breathe. Come on.” His blue eyes bored into me, concern tightening the skin around his eyes. I dragged in a lungful of air on his command and that seemed to do the trick. What a weird almost out of body experience that was, I thought inconsequentially. Then it all fell into place with a clunk. 

That bitch had been here! Rage boiled up in me. She'd been here! At our home! The mix of fear and fury I felt at the idea of her being that close to Tom left me shaken.

“Look, Tom. I'm sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this... I feel like I signed on to make things easier for you, and yet here I am adding this complication to your life.”

I was confused to see Tom's face, his expression, hardening as I spoke. By the time I'd done saying my piece, Tom looked positively livid, his mouth grim and his eyes narrowed.  His ears had turned a hot red.

I've seen Tom annoyed and I've seen him angry, but never at me. I hadn't realized until just now that I had never truly experienced his ire. No like this anyway. Even breaking into his twitter account hadn’t wrought me this strength of reaction.

He seized my head, his fingers threading into my hair and tilted my face to look into his. 

“Mac. None of this is yours to apologise for! Do you understand me? This... all of this shit is down to her, not you!” He was fierce in his defence of me, his eyes searching mine for understanding.

I drew a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay.” I whispered. I need to stop second guessing myself, stop feeling responsible for her actions, as if I have any kind of power over what she does.

I put my arms around him and he held me tightly. My eyes stung with tears and although my first reaction was to blink them back, I didn’t. I knew I wasn’t about to start bawling and venting emotions doesn’t mean she’s won. There was nothing here to win.

 “Okay.” My voice is stronger now. I pulled away from the shelter of his arms and wiped at my eyes as I gathered my courage about me.

“Call the constable, please. He needs to know about this. And I need to call my aunt...  Just to check in on things.”

I slipped into the kitchen and found a Tupperware container and while Tom was on the phone, I slipped onto the porch.

I don’t know what I expected, something like the horse’s head scene from the Godfather maybe. Instead this was rather mundane, just two dead birds, about the size of  Blackbird but I didn’t recognise the species. There was no blood that I could see, I remember learning in school that birds are so small they only have a tiny amount, some hardly more than a thimble full.

If we’d had a cat, I wouldn’t have thought twice about this scene, other than being sad the cat had won, but we didn’t and I hadn’t seen any in the neighbourhood. Plus the birds were posed, lying on their sides, facing each other.

I took lots of pictures from different angles, then place their small carcases in the Tupperware box.

I hoped she was watching as I did it. I hoped she saw that I wasn’t intimidated. I hoped she could see that I was documenting everything she did. I hoped her stomach dropped out as she wondered if she’d gone too far this time.

Tom was worried when he realised I’d been outside but he didn’t say anything as I left the box in the kitchen, sitting on an old newspaper on the table while I washed my hands. He wanted to have her arrested over the birds, but I knew they still couldn’t do anything. We had a case officer here but he couldn’t do anything until there was proof Rowen had broken the law. He would probably say these were most likely cat kills, and even if he suspected they had been left here by Rowan to intimidate, he couldn’t do anything about it without proof.

I hoped they had been killed by a cat and Rowen just happened upon them; it was better to think they were dead because of nature, rather than murdered. It was hard to catch birds, I reasoned, and so she probably had found them already dead. I hoped so.

I tried to get on with my day but thoughts of her, and those poor birds, kept intruding.

That afternoon we were sitting on the couch reading a batch of scripts Luke had sent, and that Tom wanted my input on. Unfortunately I kept getting distracted by recent events and occasionally I would get to the end of the page and realise I couldn’t remember what I'd just read. That she had such power over me was irritating in the extreme. 

My heartbeat spiked when the doorbell rang but I knew I was being silly, she’d never rung the bell before, but I suppose my nerves were just tightly strung today. I checked the peep hole first, then opened the door on the chain while he told me who he was, Senior Constable Brown, and showed me his credentials. 

Luke had arranged the contact between the UK and Australian police, so the officer knew the history of the case. We showed him the birds, then showed him the daily letters she’d seen sending, one to Tom, one to me that I had opened, and another 12 that I hadn’t. 

We sat down at the kitchen table to chat and he advised us to take pictures, keep all correspondence, document everything, and consider installing CCTV cameras. 

“It’s not our house,” Tom said. “We’re renting, but I’ve been asking around at work and there are a couple of gated communities, we could look into renting something in one of them.”

“No,” I shook my head. “We’re only here another four weeks and I don’t want her thinking she’s got to us.”

“Before doing anything drastic like that, I can try talking to her,” Brown said. 

“Will that work?” I asked.

He pulled a noncommittal expression. “The odds aren’t great but it’s worth a try.”

“Will it make things worse?”

“There’s no evidence to support that.” 

“The London police have tried speaking to her,” Tom said. “Obviously it didn’t work.” 

“It can't hurt to try again,” Brown said and I appreciated that he was trying to help, there just wasn’t much he could do. 

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “We’re going to put webcams in any windows that cover the front of the house and the rear, that way if she leaves any other gifts, we’ll have proof and that should be enough to arrest her.”

“Even if we do catch her, she won’t get much for leaving a letter or an already dead animal,” Tom observed. 

“No, but we can hold her for 8 hours and question her,” Brown said. “She’s in a strange country with different rules, there’s a good chance we can unnerve her and get her to admit her guilt. She probably won’t do time but she will have her first conviction and then we can deport her.”

It was better than nothing, I supposed, unless...

“Hang on a second though, if we do convict her, the press will be informed and they’ll report on it.”

“We can use your maiden name and hope no one makes the connection,” Brown offered.

“And regardless, she needs to be convicted,” Tom added.

“Luke is going to hate this sort of publicity.” 

“He’ll find some way to spin it in my favour,” Tom assured me.

“And if he can’t?” 

“He _will_ . If by some miracle he can’t, she still needs to be stopped!” 

We thanked S.C. Brown for his help and advice, then showed him out (with an autograph for his niece, his sister, and a selfie to show everyone else, although he did promise complete confidentiality).

By unspoken agreement, we didn’t talk about the stalker, I refused to give her any more of my time or attention than was absolutely warranted, and we returned to the pile of scripts we’d been working through. 

The next two I read were tedious and I found myself easily distracted in places, but the one after that captured my attention from page one. It was a romantic comedy but it was so good that I found myself laughing out loud in places. 

“What have you got there?” Tom asked, smiling as he looked over at my chuckling. 

“Time and Again,” I replied. “I think it could be the next Four Weddings and a Funeral.”  “Really?” 

I nodded. “Well yes and no. I mean it’s not exactly like it, it’s sort of the best things from that, Love Actually, Bridget Jones, and just a smidge of When Harry Met Sally. It really has that dry British sense of humour, you know? And none of this airy fairy romance crap, just some really good writing. It’s fairly believable for a rom-com too.”

“Richard Curtis?” he asked. 

I turned to the front page. “Some bloke called Robert Preston, actually. Have you heard of him?” 

“Can’t say I have. Pass it to me when you’re done, will you, I’ll give it a read.”

“Sure.” I turned back to my page and continued reading, eager to find out what happened next. 

The ending was a little saccharine for my tastes but still good, and I knew that this was far from the final draft. 

I passed it over to Tom and picked up the next script. 

Like me, he kept snickering and I was desperate to know where he’d got to, which bits were making him laugh. Suddenly he began roaring with laughter and I lowered my script. 

“The dog?” I asked, grinning. 

“No, the hotel.” 

“Oh, I loved that bit!” I laughed at the memory. 

I tried not to interrupt him as he read but he seemed keen to share the laugh out loud moments. 

“Should I even bother reading this?” I waved my script around. 

Tom chuckled. 

I found another script I liked, a sort of modern retelling of A Winter’s Tale but as we shared another joke from the rom-com movie over dinner, we knew that was the one he wanted. 

“Do you think they’ll let you play Matt?” I asked. I’d pictured Tom in the lead role as I read it, now I couldn’t imagine anyone else playing him. 

“As long as schedules can be sorted out, I have first refusal… well, third refusal.” He admitted. 

“Who else did they ask?” 

“Orlando Bloom turned it down and James McAvoy had a scheduling conflict.”

“When do they film?” 

“Beginning of September, I think.” 

“Are you going to do it?” 

“I think so,” he nodded. “Comedy is something I’d like to do more of, the plot is great, the humour intelligent, it’s like a gift.” 

I raised my wine glass. “To gifts.” 

“To gifts,” he agreed. 

“Just don’t go looking them in the mouth,” I teased.

“Never!” he seemed shocked by the very thought. 

I’ve probably given you a slightly false impression of the stalking. As that day illustrates, this Rowen person didn’t occupy my thoughts all the time, I wasn’t living in a permanent state of anxiety, and I could get on with my work, although I was more easily distracted. Instead, Rowen was at the back of my mind all the time. When she did pop into my thoughts, I felt a frisson of worry, which was annoying and disrupted whatever I was doing.

Tom was great about keeping me distracted though, and when he was at work I sometimes made plans with others. If I was at home alone, I kept the alarm turned on. 

I noticed strange noises more, I perhaps drank a bit more regularly in the evenings, especially if I was on my own as it helped me relax and sleep, but I was determined that she wasn’t going to get the better of me. 

The worst was when Tom had night shoots, or when he had to go away to do a few days publicity on another film. A few nights alone doesn’t sound bad, I’d lived alone for years, but now it was different. I felt vulnerable getting undressed while on my own in the house, and my writer’s imagination just wouldn’t quit so I dressed in sweats and camped out of the sofa, leaving the Night Manager DVD playing on repeat in the background as a comfort. 

Tom looked furious the first morning he got home to find me on the couch, so the few nights he was away after that I made sure to set my phone alarm for 6am, then I could head to bed and he would be none the wiser. After all, there was no point worrying him when he couldn’t do anything about it.

***

After senior constable Brown spoke to Rowan, her letters had stopped, so he must have put the fear of God into her. I didn’t expect this to last long but if, as I suspect, he had threatened her with things like deportation, hopefully she’d leave us alone for the remainder of our time in Australia. I’d phoned him to thank him and he had warned me that she hadn’t left the country, so she was probably still watching, she just wasn’t being overt about it. It was a definite improvement though. 

As well as that, the Eleanor of Aquitaine book was still being touted around publishers, agents help get you in the door but they can’t do much to speed up the process, so it still took the best part of three months to get all the offers in. So far three publishers had expressed interest, and Lucy was confident she could start a bidding war.

The edits on my thriller were finished. We had decided to call it ‘Last Chance’ and it was due to be published in August. I’d been sent three possible covers and while I didn’t have veto power, they did ask my preference. The first cover was downright weird, a woman in a flowery dress, floppy hat, with her back to the camera and standing in the middle of a meadow. 

It didn’t exactly scream “Thriller!”

They designed a second cover, which I really liked. It was minimalist, a computer chip rendered in blue and white. Someone evidently didn’t like it though, so we got a third one. 

This one was a more traditional thriller cover, a black cover with people running, motion blur to convey a sense of urgency and to my surprise when I received it, it had actual quotes from other writers on it, rather than the placeholders the other covers used.

I didn’t hate the cover. I thought it was safe and unoriginal, but my happiness over the two quotes far exceeded my unhappiness with the cover, and I texted Tom immediately with a photo. 

I didn’t normally contact him while he was on set because he was hardly ever able to answer so if I needed him, I always texted so he could answer when he was free. I was surprised when thirty seconds later, he called me back. 

“Did I read that right, Marcus England and Valerie MacMillan read your book and gave those quotes?” 

“Apparently!” I was grinning like a loon. “But do you think they really read it, or just sort of gave a generic quote?” 

The quotes _were_ generic, ‘Brilliant debut,’ one had said and the other ‘Had me hooked from page one’. 

These authors were probably sent dozens of advanced books copies, they probably didn’t have time to read them all. Either that or they were with the same imprint I was and were contractually obligated to provide quotes. 

“Stop it,” Tom told me. “Your work merits this praise and you have no reason to suspect that these people are anything but genuine. I’d happily give a quote of my own if they’d publish it.” 

He was right, I was looking for negatives. 

“You’re grinning right now, aren’t you?” he said. 

“Yup!” 

“You’re a bundle of energy, and you want to scream and dance around, don’t you?” I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Maybe… Just a little one!” 

“Do it!” he laughed. “Do it now!” 

So I did, letting out a high pitched squeal and jumping around, laughing rather manically. 

“It’s actually happening, isn’t it? I’m really going to be published!”

“And you deserve every inch of your success, darling!”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“You would have eventually,” he assured me. 

“You got long left?” I asked. 

“Just in wardrobe now, should be home in under an hour.” 

“I’ll cook us something nice,” I assured him. I was too excited to continue work today. 

“I can pick something up on my way,” he offered. 

“Is that you way of asking me to bake instead?” 

“Am I that transparent?” 

“‘Fraid so,” I teased. “But if you’re as big as a house by the time they shoot Infinity War, just don’t send the wardrobe girls after me.”

“Deal,” he chuckled. “I’ll just have to see if I can get recast as the Hulk. They’ll have a fortune on CGI.”

I laughed. “Well, I’d better let you get back to it.”

“See you soon, love.”

“Wait! What do you want me to make?” 

“You know what I like, surprise me.” 

“Oh dear, you really shouldn’t have said that.”

He laughed.

“Don’t be too long,” I urged. 

“Not a moment longer than necessary.” He sighed, so I knew he’d had a hard day. Hardly surprising since he’d been filming a rather emotional scene today. I’d make sure to have a nice glass of Jameson ready. 

And a nice lemon drizzle cake. 

“Don’t worry about picking something up, we’ll order in.”

“If you’re sure, see you soon.”

I hung up and headed for the kitchen, turning some music on to sing along to while I worked.  Things were really looking up. 

Once the cake was in the oven, I headed upstairs for some massage oil, a quick shower and shave then, clad only in my dressing gown, I grabbed Tom’s robe and headed back downstairs. I got the ingredients ready for the lemon icing and while the cake cooled, I sorted through our takeout menus and picked out the ones Tom liked most, then I made the icing, adding a generous measure of Limoncello liqueur, then ‘drizzled’ it liberally over the cake. 

That left just enough time to pour us both a drink and as I carried them through to the living room, the door opened and the alarm began to beep. 

Tom entered the code and I changed direction to meet him. He looked tired. 

“Hey, handsome,” I smiled as I approached. 

I saw his eyes alight on the amber liquid in the glasses and he looked both grateful and relieved. 

“Please tell me one of those is for me.” 

“It’ll cost ya,” I teased, claiming a kiss before I handed him his glass. 

He took a long sip, then closed his eyes and let out a long, weary sigh. 

“Come on.” I tugged on his hand and walked backwards as I pulled him towards the living room. 

I took a seat on the couch and commanded him to sit in front of me. He looked confused, but duly sat on the rug between my knees, his back to me. I tugged on his t-shirt until I pulled it off, then reached for the massage oil with one hand and turned the music on with the other, a light jazz playlist of mine.

As I began to rub his shoulders he hissed in pain but as I worked the tension away, the sounds of pain morphed into long rolling moans and breathy sighs more akin to pleasure.

“I think you missed your calling,” he murmured, his eyes closed as he sipped his whiskey. 

I smiled. When I was done, I handed him his dressing gown and ordered him to change and since his back was oily, he didn’t argue. 

“Tonight we are vegging,” I told him as he stood up and tugged his jeans off. If he’d been a little closer, I might have reached out and nibbled that peachy bum. 

“Vegging?” 

“Yes, doing nothing but eating and drinking and watching.” 

“Well that’s all very well,” he pulled his dressing gown on but didn’t do it up so as he turned around, a lovely erection poked through the gap. “But I’m afraid you’ve awakened other appetites.”

The carpets and rug here are lovely and plush, so I slid off the couch to my knees and shuffled over to him, never breaking eye contact until I was right in front of him, then I looked down at my target and licked my lips. 

“Sit,” I ordered, and Tom all but fell into the chair behind him. I leaned forward and licked a long slow stripe from balls to tip, his musky scent invading my senses. I swirled my tongue around the head, immediately losing all desire to tease him further at the taste of the salty drop weeping from the eye.

Tom's hand pushed my hair back, his fingers running over my cheek tenderly.

“God, Mac, that feels so good.”

 I did it again for good measure, and for the pleasure of hearing him moan. I spent a moment very carefully nibbling down his shaft to his balls, his hands tightening in my hair.

“Christ!” His hips thrust up. “If you keep that up…” he trailed off in a hiss as I lightly sucked a ball into my mouth and rolled it very carefully, repeating I with the other, and I felt his thighs turning to iron under my palms.

I pulled off and quickly swallowed him down, bobbing my head.

"Fuck!" Tom grunted, both his hands in my hair, holding it back from my face and guiding my rhythm.

I looked up in time to see his eyes flutter closed and a look of pure bliss on his features, then his head fell right back until all I could see of him was his Adam's apple sliding up and down his throat as he swallowed hard.

I let him savour the sensations for a moment before pushing down and taking as much of him as I could. I choked a little as I felt him brush the back of my throat. Tonight was not going to be one of those times when I could manage more, I thought regretfully.

I moved my hand to circle the base of his cock and slid it upward after my mouth on his wet slick skin, and back down.

Faster now, Tom's hand hands clenching in my hair, tightening up my scalp, but not deliberately pulling.

"Mac... Mac..."  he began to pant and his hips thrust upward helplessly.

"Mac...I'm going to-!"

That was all the warning I had, but I didn't mind as he swelled and burst on my tongue. He arched upward with a cry and I swallowed is sees down. After a long moment he collapsed back into his seat bonelessly and I carefully pulled away, gently licking him clean and leaving a tiny kiss behind.

Tom's hands slowly unclenched from my hair and I sat back on my heels, laying my cheek on his thigh as he took a deep shuddering breath. If the tears that leaked from my eyes were not all from my recent efforts, but from my realization of how much I was going to miss him in a month's time... well, he didn't have to know that.

Tom leaned forward and tugged me up into his lap, his arms wrapping around me and his face buried in my hair as I curled up there, breathing deeply.

He nudged my face up and kissed me, then handed me his glass. I swished whisky around my mouth before I swallowed it. I generally don't mind Tom's taste, but the aftertaste can get to be a bit overwhelming.

“That was amazing, love.”

“My pleasure,” I assured him.

“Now we have to find something fun for you.” The wolfish look on his face would have me soaking in seconds, were it not for the lethargy also evident in his expression. We’d shared an intimate moment and that was enough for me, I didn’t need to climax all the time, especially when he was so weary.

“My turn tomorrow. Tonight you just relax.”

I sighed and laid my head back on his chest contentedly.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve 

The Thor wrap party was amazing, even better than the awards after parties since I didn’t have to worry about spilling red wine on a dress that probably cost more than my little car.

There was music and dancing, an open bar, a photo booth with dress up props, and many people I had come to like. 

I grew a little melancholy when I realised that I might never see some of these people again. 

This was Tom’s life, a series of short term connections, most of which would never be renewed. Then I remembered his look of gratitude sometimes, when he came home after a long day to find I was ready to take care of him. 

I turned to look for him and found him in the DJ booth, lining up the tunes and grinning like a fool while he danced along. He stopped to have a sip of his beer, then breathlessly introduced the next track.

He was a gregarious person and easily able to make new friends, but everyone needed something with a little more permanence. Even his long term friends and family weren’t available to him much of the time since he was often away from them.

I pushed the thoughts aside for now and switched to water, before I began bawling my eyes out and declaring my love for everyone here. 

A bit later Chris grabbed me for the photo booth, then I grabbed Miriam, one of the makeup artists, then I went off to find my Thomas, who was downing beer in thirsty mouthfuls. Judging by how wet his shirt was, he’d been dancing. 

“There she is!” he cried with the enthusiasm of a child as he put his beer down and grabbed my hands. “We have to do the photo booth.”

“I’ve just done it twice!” I laughingly resisted his attempts to drag me back.

“But not with me! Surely you won’t turn your beloved husband down, will you?” You can probably guess that those words were accompanied with the puppy dog eyes. 

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically, rolling my eyes and giving my best stroppy teenager impression. 

Tom laughed and pulled me over. 

I remember putting a feather boa around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss, but the rest of the night is a bit of a blur, until I woke up in bed the next morning, stiflingly hot as I was still fully clothed, under the covers and with Tom spooning me from behind. 

We took the day to recover but the next day we spent packing. Our flight was that night and while we travelled first class, the flight was still long and arduous. 

Once we landed and on the drive home, the proximity of our anniversary suddenly hit me. Five weeks! Well, four weeks and four days. 

It was like an invisible countdown to the end of my marriage. 

I wondered about suggesting we keep the things going a little longer, just so that people didn’t become suspicious of a 365 day marriage. I was tired and grouchy though, and not at all brave enough to suggest something like that. 

My courage failed me the next day, and the next, and for the week after that. 

Tom didn’t say anything either though, and I began to wonder if maybe he was just going to let our anniversary slide by and stay married to me. Or maybe he’d take me out to dinner and ask me to stay married to him. Or possibly he was planning an elaborate ceremony, secretly inviting our family and friends so we could renew our wedding vows in front of them.

I knew I had ventured out of the realm of possibility and into the fantasy land but each day that Tom ignored the upcoming deadline though, I became a little more convinced that he was doing so for the same reason I was, because he didn’t want this to end. 

Beyond grand romantic gestures, what really counted was how he felt about me, right? And while granted, he had never actually said those three little words to me, he certainly gave the impression that he loved me. I’d never found the courage to tell him that I loved him, and I hoped he could tell because of the way I acted towards him.

Tom had to attend a convention in the US the week before our anniversary (they were showing the first footage of Thor) and the trip was extended with a couple of other publicity obligations, but he would be back the day before our anniversary. I knew because I heard him arguing about it with Luke. 

It made me more certain than ever that he wanted to remain married to me, so when he said “We’ll talk when I get back,” I wasn’t worried. 

“Will you be all right on your own?” he asked, to which I must have looked confused. “I know you slept downstairs when I wasn’t there in Australia.” 

Busted.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I know she’s probably still sending letters but I never see them here, and I feel safer knowing no one can even get to our front door without the security code. I’ll be fine.” That was completely true, actually, I did feel safer here.

“You know you can come with me, right?” he offered. 

“Thank you, but I need to meet with my new publisher and sign the contracts.” The Eleanor of Aquitaine book had sold. “And my editor wants 20,000 words of the next thriller, and I’d like to go over it before I send them.”

 “If you’re sure?”

“I am. You have fun… And try not to break too many hearts!” 

***

I had just got back from the meeting with my agent, Lucy, and my new publisher, to sign contracts and to meet the team who would be handling the book. The important person was the editor though, since she would be guiding me through perfecting and polishing the manuscript. She seemed a little cool in her temperament to me but I hoped she’d warm up in time. 

After the meeting Lucy took me out for a celebratory lunch, then I caught a cab back home. I hadn’t been home ten minutes before someone knocked on the door. 

I felt a brief stab of anxiety but I knew it had to be someone who had the entry code. I was surprised to see Luke at the front door though, I assumed he had gone to America with Tom. 

I invited him in and offered him tea because it was polite, but we both sucked at making small talk. 

“What can I do for you?” I asked while the kettle boiled. 

“I have some things for you to sign.” He rummaged in his case and brought out three envelopes, two large C4 and one smaller C5 size. “This is the divorce petition,” he pulled three copies out of an envelope and laid them before me on the kitchen table. 

I felt pole axed and the heartbreak was actually physically painful. It hurt to breathe and so I didn’t, taking only the shallowest of breaths as I watched Luke, my stomach in knots.

“This is the settlement agreement.” He laid those beside the petition. “And this is your settlement cheque.” He laid a seven figure banker’s draft out beside the other documents.

Tom obviously wanted this and Luke was here at his request. The coward had sent a man I hate to do his bidding. I would never have taken Tom to be this kind of cruel.

Luke was watching me but when I didn’t move, he turned each contract to the signature page, laying them side by side so I could just go down the line, signing my name on each. Then he uncapped a fountain pen and held it out towards me. 

“Just sign, I’ll take care of dating and witnessing it.” He made it sound like he was doing me a favour. “Go on, sign,” he urged. 

There was no point in trying to delay this. We’d agreed to a year, the year was up in five days, Tom had fulfilled his end of the bargain with his settlement cheque, now it was my turn to accept reality and give him his divorce. 

Normally I’d read a contract but I knew if I sat down and read about the terms of our divorce, I’d start sobbing and I was not going to do that in front of Luke. I stepped forward in a haze and accepted the pen, signing on autopilot. 

Luke slipped the papers back into their envelopes and then handed me the banker’s draft. 

Rather than breaking down in tears, I focused on my hate for this man and I remembered every mean thing he’d ever said about me so that I wouldn’t cry. 

I took the cashier’s cheque and held my hand out for him to shake. 

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Windsor. Give me a call when hell freezes over and we’ll catch up.”

He quickly packed up and the moment the front door closed, I broke down in tears, sinking to the floor as I sobbed. 

How had everything changed so quickly? This morning I was married, I was happy, my career was on the rise. This afternoon I’m bawling on the kitchen floor, wondering what the hell just happened. 

***

By the time I stopped crying enough to move, my muscles were aching as much as my heart. I somehow dragged myself to my feet and turned the kettle back on.  Tears still streamed down my face but at least I wasn’t sobbing. 

I knew I couldn’t stay here, not in this house were I’d made so many memories. I couldn’t be here when Tom returned. I wasn’t even holding it together on my own, so I really couldn’t if he was here with me. And he didn’t deserve to see my pain. As much as I'd like to rail against him, to shout and scream and hate him, I couldn’t. He hadn’t made any false declarations of love, or promised me anything and not delivered. His only crime was not falling in love with me and I couldn’t fault him for that, no matter how painful it was. 

I made myself some tea and headed into the sun room with my laptop, still wiping away tears as I went. I pulled google up and looked for a three month rental. What I found were holiday lets by the week, which were hellishly expensive and this really wasn’t the right time of year to get a good deal on such a property. 

Instead I changed tactics and searched a regular rental sites for furnished rentals. My tears had dried up now so I phoned a couple of agents with such properties listed and asked if they had any landlords who would be willing to rent their property for 3 months. That should give me time to cash my divorce settlement and find a house to buy. 

Most agents were receptive and assured me that they would ask the landlords and get back to me, especially when I told them I wanted to move in the next few days and offered to pay all three months and the deposit upfront. 

It was quite late in the afternoon now so I knew I’d have to wait until tomorrow before most of them emailed me back, but I wasn’t bothered about seeing the houses in person, pictures would be fine, as long as I could move in the day after tomorrow. 

I didn’t know what to do with myself that night, I couldn’t settle to watch or read anything and if I did nothing, I began crying again. I decided to go for another run, which would exhaust me, then I’d start packing until I collapsed. 

It worked remarkably well and with a large helping of Toms whiskey to soothe me while I packed, I was asleep by 10pm. 

***

My new home was a nice two bedroom apartment in Wembley, about 10 miles from Tom’s house. Funnily enough I’d been offered an apartment just down the road from his house, less than half a mile away in fact, but whilst it very tempting I knew that for my own emotional wellbeing, I needed to make a clean break. I’d let him break my heart once, only a fool would let him do it again. 

I intended to leave my rings but when I slipped them down my finger, I felt anxious and exposed, so I slipped them back into place. They hadn’t been off my finger for a year, so maybe I needed to ween myself off them, work up to removing them for longer and longer periods. Yes, I’m aware of how silly that sounds, nonetheless the rings remained in place for now. 

I’d left Tom a letter though, my way of saying ‘no hard feelings, thanks for the memories, and hope you have a nice life’. It took me ages to write because I had to strike that right note between being friendly but not soppy, and I didn’t want him to feel guilty. 

Really, my life was amazing, largely in part to the opportunity he had afforded me and I should be thanking him, not crying so hard that my eyes were swollen to the size of golf balls. 

First, he’d give me the opportunity to write. If not for him, I might never have finished a manuscript, or sold two books, or have a contract for two more. 

Second, he’d helped me find my feet after losing my Mum, and he’d supported me through everything the press did and my wobbly self-esteem. Now one could argue that he was the reason I’d faced the press intrusion, but I didn’t blame him. If I’d given it more thought, I probably could have predicted it, so the fact I didn’t was my fault. 

Thirdly, he’d bought me dozens of beautiful dresses, which I would never have bought for myself. 

Fourth, I’d met so many amazing people, from those I admired and respected, like Emma Thompson, to those I just fancied, like Will Smith. 

Fifth, no way on earth could I have experienced even a fraction of the life he led on my own. The parties, the glamour, the glitz, the food. I’d even had gold infused vodka. Now granted the reason I’d never have experienced that without Tom is because no way in hell would I actually pay for such foolish extravagance, but we hadn’t had to pay for it. 

Sixth, that holiday in Australia. I didn’t want to imagine what travelling that distance would have been like in economy class, but luckily I hadn’t had to. Almost everything had been paid for by the film studio or Tom, I’d just needed to bring spending money and enjoy myself. It had been an amazing time, truly.

Seventh, now I’d left Tom, I would never have to think about my stalker again, let alone worry about her because in a roundabout way, she’d won. 

Eighth, some of the best love making I’d ever experienced. I don’t know if it was Tom, or the mix of our particular chemistry, but my sex life had been amazing. Somehow I doubted I’d ever find that again but they say it’s better to have experienced something and lost it, than never had it at all, or something like that.

Oh yes, I remember that quote now, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’. Oh how apt that little phrase was right now.

I was trying very hard to count my blessings, because it’s hard to be sad when you’re feeling grateful. That was something Mum used to tell me. 

I was very tempted to start exercising more again and I’d been eating very little because food just seemed to have lost all taste. I might as well have eaten mushed paper for all the enjoyment food had. I really did not want to get into the same situation I was in before Christmas though, so I often forced myself to eat. Baking held no pleasure any more so I’d buy a couple of cakes each week and force them down. I also started drinking Baileys in the evening, which was basically just liquid calories.

I forced myself to exercise sensibly and while there were a few days when I couldn’t resist jogging another mile or two, I was mostly successful at keeping it reasonable.

I thought how strange it was that losing weight before seemed to make me depressed but now, it was my depression that was causing me to lose weight.

My real problem came at night. Sleep just seemed to utterly elude me. I bought some over the counter sleep medication which helped a little but not much. I began taking my laptop to bed with me, and cueing up horror movies. That might seem like an odd choice when I wanted to sleep, but supernatural beasties have never given me nightmare. Horror films also have the added benefit of very little plot to keep up with, and lots of action sequenced to hold the interest. I could doze off for a while and when I woke up, not need to catch up with the plot in order to follow the action.

It was very tempting to just double my exercise and tire myself out but I kept reminding myself that when I had done that before, sure I was tired all the time but sleep wasn’t actually that easy then either.

I kept myself busy in other ways. Each day I’d take some bread with me and stop mid-run by the brook in my local park and feed the ducks. If I needed anything I’d walk to the shops rather than driving or taking the bus and for the evenings, I looked up activities online and tried to do something every other night. 

It was exhausting but aside from a few days when I let the darkness win, I managed to force myself to behave reasonably most of the time.

I also forced myself to sit with my computer and tried to work for two hours, twice a day. I wasn’t very productive, some days I couldn’t even add a single sentence to my story but I figured that the more I did it, the easier it would become. 

After a few weeks of sleeping poorly I decided that rather than lie there doing nothing, I would sit in front of my computer rereading and obsessively editing my old partial manuscripts or, when the muse was willing, writing. 

The day Tom was scheduled to come home I was too distracted to do much at all. I kept hoping I’d hear from him, even although I’d turned my phone off. Somehow, magically, against all reason and logic, I still hoped he’d find me and tell me it was all some silly misunderstanding, or apologise profusely for making such a huge mistake and beg me to come back. 

The next day my hopes were crushed and I toasted my one year anniversary with a large bottle of Malibu and some pineapple juice. I cried those sort of ugly tears that you never see in movies, the kind that give you horrible hiccups, and I listened to Queen’s One Year of Love on repeat.

I was wallowing, but today was my one indulgence. 

I woke up the next day with a raging hangover, but the desire to stick to my plan and try to move my life forward, no matter how much pain I was in. 

After a long shower, I headed into my dining room-cum-office and found the divorce settlement cheque sitting on my desk. I vaguely remembered coming in here, looking at it while I cried and wondering what to do with it. 

I should cash it and use the proceeds to buy a home, and possibly an investment property or two. I should use it to set myself up for the rest of my life. 

The sentimental side of me though, felt as if cashing it would cheapen what I’d shared with Tom. It would be a betrayal of everything I’d felt for Tom. He hadn’t bought my love, I’d given it freely.

The irony was that even if it hadn’t known it at the time, what we had shared had been completely one sided.

I had a decent nest egg behind me anyway since Tom’s monthly allowance had been very generous. I could afford the rent here for over a year, twice that if I moved back to Colchester and hopefully by then, I’d be receiving regular royalty payments. If not, I supposed I’d have to do what every starving artist does, and get a job. 

Cashing the cheque was the sensible move, I knew that, but I just couldn’t do it, so once again I put the cheque into its envelope and tucked it away in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.  I was becoming a master of procrastination. 

***

Mentions of Tom were unavoidable but I became skilled at ignoring them and turning my attention elsewhere. 

My book launch party wasn’t much to write home about, it was held in a central London book store and invitations were sent out over the company’s social media, as well as posters in the shop itself. I was signing for two hours in the afternoon, then reading an excerpt and having a Q&A in the evening. 

I didn’t want to tweet about it, I’d been pretty much avoiding social media since I met Tom but we followed each other’s accounts, so I was a little worried he’d see it and come. I could have blocked him but then he’d think that I was angry, and I didn’t want that. 

I retweeted the invitation to my followers though, because I was pressured to. All authors need to build a social media platform these days, apparently, and I had a fairly decent following of about 2,500 thanks mostly to being Tom’s wife. 

Despite my fears that Tom would turn up at the launch, I also hoped he would show, so I was weirdly both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t come.

The signing wasn’t queued out of the door, it wasn’t queued at all, in fact, I just sat there, smiled and made conversation with people who passed. Every few minutes someone came up with a book to be signed and I chatted to them for a while. It sounds excruciating but I actually enjoyed it, I love people and I liked hearing their stories. 

Unfortunately for me, despite publishing under my maiden name, as I mentioned, many of my twitter followers were Tom fans and I was repeatedly asked if he would be there while I was signing, or if he’d be at the event that evening.

“He’d love to but he can’t,” I would tell them. 

Most took it well but a couple were clearly rather huffy that their idol wasn’t going to be at an event he wasn’t advertised as appearing at. The vast majority of fans are lovely people who only want the best for Tom, but there are always a few who feel strangely entitled.

The Q&A that evening was busier than the signing had been, probably because it was the evening and there was free wine. Aunt Anna, her husband Barry and their daughter made to through, as did Jilly and a handful of my other friends. I had told them all that Tom was away in LA for a few days. If ever asked for more details, ‘studio meetings’ seemed answer enough, because no one seemed to know exactly what they were for or what happened in them. 

I just wasn’t strong enough to have the ‘we’re separated’ discussion yet, not even with family. Maybe in a few more weeks.

I was chatting to Jilly, telling her the progress on the book she’d helped me with, when her attention was drawn to the door. 

I was shocked and thrilled to see Emma Thompson walk in at 7pm and accept a glass of wine. She followed me on twitter and had retweeted about the launch, then she’d private messaged me saying she would come if she could but although I said I looked forward to seeing her, I’d thought she was just being polite.  I never actually dreamed that she would be here.

“Congratulations,” she said as she greeted me with a kiss on each cheek. 

“You came!” 

“Well of course I came, I had to get my copy!” She smiled as though that should be obvious. “You’re looking very pale, my dear, is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine,” I assured her. “I think it’s just nerves.” 

“Of course. Just relax, breathe deeply, and remember that nerves are natural. Everyone from Olivier to Elizabeth Taylor suffered from nerves, myself included!”

I smiled and brought her deeper into the store as we chatted. Of course people approached us and I introduced her to my editor, who seemed very impressed with my star pulling power, and the publicist, who congratulated me on getting someone of Emma’s calibre here, especially since the Metro had sent a reporter, so we were guaranteed to get some press coverage now and have it picked up by other outlets. 

Emma was soon swept away from me and I returned to getting nervous about the reading I had to give. I had practiced extensively but I don’t think the fear of public speaking ever really goes away. I downed my glass of wine quickly, needing the Dutch courage. 

Finally it was time and everyone took a seat while I headed to my chair on a small platform. The reading went well. It was only the first few pages to whet the appetite, then the floor was opened for questions. 

A couple of people tried to ask about Tom but my publisher’s publicist, who was acting as the Master of Ceremonies, artfully deflected them before I was required to answer. The publishing crowd asked me things about the plot and my method, some of the regular people asked about the writing process and did I have advice, and Emma asked if I thought my heroine was a strong female character. I answered that she was, although she was also flawed because everyone has some flaws, but I was hoping for the day when ‘strong female character’ was not a subset of writing, but so normal that it wasn’t worth commenting on. 

Once the Q&A was over, things began to break up, which is when I spotted Rowan bloody Boyde sneaking out from behind a book case and heading for the exit. How long had she been here?

After the events in Australia I now had a restraining order against her, which included her not being able to contact me (such as send me letters), not being able to go within a certain distance of my home (so she couldn’t  leave dead animals for me to find), and not being able to be near me in public (so she couldn’t follow me like she had done in Australia).

Since the store was so big it had security guards monitoring CCTV, and one standing by the entrance. Luckily for me, he was on the ball so when Rowan saw that I’d seen her and began to run, he was quickly able to block the exit when I called, “Stop her!”

The store manager approached me and I quickly explained that I had a restraining order against that woman, and he had her escorted to an office while we waited for the police.

I said goodbye to all my friends, then the manager took me to his office to wait, I would have to give a statement, but I found myself asking if I could speak to her.

“Are you sure?”

I wasn’t at all sure but to date I hadn’t even exchange done word with this woman, who seemed to think it was her mission in life to torment me.

“I’m sure.”

So he showed me to the security office.

“We’ll be right outside,” one of the guards explained, then suddenly I was alone with my stalker.

She looked terrified but given how often she had induced those feelings in me, I couldn’t feel sorry for her.

“Why?” I asked. That was really all I wanted to know, how and why she could justify treating another person like that.

She didn’t answer and kept her gaze averted.

“What have I ever done to make you hate me?”

Nothing. I was just about ready to walk out when she muttered “You don’t deserve him.”

“And you do?” I wondered aloud. “You really think that if I wasn’t in the picture, he’d be yours?” I knew from the reading I’d done on stalking that that was exactly what she thought would happen. “Do you honestly think a good, kind, decent man like Tom is going to fall for someone so mean and spiteful that she travels halfway around the world to leave dead birds on his doorstep?”

“They weren’t for him!”

“He found them though.”

It finally dawned on me that this woman wasn’t quite right in the head. I’d read about their irrational fixations, of course, but actually seeing that irrationality with my own two eyes brought it home in a way no book ever could. There was no reasoning with her. There was no way to change her mind using logical and rational arguments.

My only hope was that she would find someone else to fixate on, then she’d leave Tom and me alone.

I almost considered telling her we were divorcing so that she would leave me alone, but she didn’t deserve to have her delusions pandered to.

“You don’t deserve him, you know. You wouldn’t even have a launch party if it wasn’t for Tom.”

Clearly my silence had emboldened her.

“Your book is rubbish and your publisher only bought it because you’re Tom’s wife.”

I began to laugh, although it was completely contrived because there was nothing humours about this whole situation.

“You tell yourself whatever you need to in order to live with your own failures, love, I’ll be over here, being fabulous!”

I walked out and left her stewing in her own hatred. It didn’t take long for the police to arrive and they took statements from me and the security guard who had been at the main door, looked at security footage to see how long she’d been in the shop (which the other security guard had helpfully already looked for and copied). They had Luke’s details and said they would contact him for copies of any new correspondence, then Rowan was arrested and carted way.

I didn’t think she’d see any jail time for this, the encounter was nonviolent and no harm had been done, except my peace of mind, but the inconvenience of being arrested and spending even one night in jail should be enough to stop her for a little while.

I caught a cab home after that and called my family to let them know it was nothing serious and I was safe. I’d told them about Rowan while I was in Australia, so they knew roughly what was going on.

Once I got home I poured myself a massive glass Baileys, which probably contained a week’s worth of calories, then I added an extra shot of whisky to give it an extra kick and sat down to relax.

I actually quite enjoyed the Q&A and barring the ending, the whole evening had been fun, even the reading in hindsight. 

The rest of the week helped to keep me busy as my publishers sent me copies of reviews that were rolling in, and they emailed copies of press articles. It was a thriller, so it wouldn’t be winning any literary awards or plaudits, but it was generally getting good reviews in its category, three to four stars on average, a two star, thankfully no one stars (yet). I tweeted some reviews but just enough to keep my publisher happy, because constantly tweeting reviews seemed rather egotistical. 

Emma endorsed my book online and some of her friends and my friends shared her kind words. I hoped it would help. 

I didn’t hit the top ten in sales, so I wasn’t a bestseller, but I did hit the top 100 on the Sunday Times Best Seller, and I broke the top 100 on the UK Amazon site. 

The book hadn’t been released in the US yet, it had been sold but was still being edited to conform to American English standards. You’d think it was another language entirely!

This boded very well though, I was assured, and for a first book this was about as good as it got. 

I was receiving a few hate comments on twitter, but nothing could bring me down at the moment. Which is when Tom decided to retweet one of my reviews from me, and reminded me that there was indeed something that could burst my little bubble of happiness. At least he chose one of my glowing reviews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you on such a downer. *evil laugh*
> 
> Okay guys, the digital ARCs of Accidentally Married are nearly ready (it’s very similar to the fanfic but with Hal Sharp, not Tom H).
> 
> ARC (Advanced Review Copies) are free and are given in exchange for a review on Amazon, Goodreads (or other book review sites) or on a personal blog. Please just send me a link to it once it’s done. You don’t have to wax lyrical or go on for pages, just a regular, honest review. (it’s good form to mention you got a free copy in exchange for the review).
> 
> If you don’t like leaving reviews or prefer an old fashioned book, I will be doing a giveaway next week where you can win one of 5 free copies of the paperback. Just follow me on Tumblr (http://catwinchester.tumblr.com/) or facebook (https://www.facebook.com/cat.winchester) for details.
> 
> If you would like an ARC, please message me (here or on tumblr @catwinchester) and let me know your email address and what format you’d like the ebook in (mobi, epub, pdf etc)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**   
**Luke Windsor POV**

I pride myself on being a good judge of character but I’m starting to think I’ve made something of a misjudgement. 

In my defence, I deal with celebrities every day and if there’s one constant, it’s that everyone wants something from them. The news outlets want quotes and photographs that will sell copies or attract traffic to their site. The television people want interviews for the same reasons. The fans want acknowledgement, sometimes more. Charities want the exposure. Even friends and family often only stick around for the money and cachet of knowing a celebrity. I’ve seen it happen.

Tom wasn’t just a client though, he was a friend. Tom had stayed with me when I when I branched out on my own. Few others had and he’d helped to make me a success, so I guess his celebrity had helped me as well. 

No one was above it. 

Except perhaps Mac. 

She had practically snatched the cheque from my hand when I brought her the divorce papers but six weeks later, she still hadn’t cashed it. 

Each time she’d argued with Tom about money, I had assumed that she was just a skilled con artist, manipulating Tom into being way too generous with her so she could lower the amounts involved, look like the good guy and still get filthy rich. 

Tom seemed smitten of course, but I knew his attachments were always superficial so it never even occurred to me that he truly cared for her. 

Now though, he was going off the rails and people were starting to notice. 

When he got back from America I was unable to reach him for four days, by phone, email or text. Finally I went around and found him unshaved, unwashed and miserable. 

“She left,” was all he said as he answered the door. “Just like that, packed her stuff and poof, gone.” 

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, but I may still be drunk from last night.” He shook his head and looked morose.

I sighed. “Well I’ve heard from the producers of ‘Time and Again’, they really need to finalise the casting, so are you in or are you out?”

“I’m in. Mac liked that script.”

I rolled my eyes and guided Tom through to the kitchen, putting the kettle on to make him a strong coffee. While it boiled, I got the film contracts out. 

“Filming begins in three weeks, at Pinewood Studios. Just sign here and I’ll handle everything else.” 

While he signed, I made him a coffee to distract myself from the parallels of the last time I was in this kitchen. 

“You okay?” I asked him as I packed the contracts away. 

When he looked up I could see that his eyes were bloodshot and puffy and I felt my first twinge of guilt. 

“I never meant anything to her,” he told me, his eyes shining with fresh tears. “She said she won’t contest the divorce and that she wishes me well. I mean, ‘wishes me well’? For fuck sake, that’s what you say to people you can't stand! I thought we had something special.” He smeared the tears from his cheeks with the heel of his hand.

I hadn’t told him about the divorce petition I’d had her sign yet, and now perhaps wasn’t the best time for that discussion. 

“Probably for the best, you can divorce her and get a clean break.”

“I was going to propose,” he admitted. “On our anniversary, I thought it would be cute to ask her on the same date, but have a renewal ceremony that our families could attend, you know? I thought she’d love that.” 

“I guess she was a better actress than we gave her credit for,” I lied. It actually pained me to have to hurt this man, but I told myself it was for his own good. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I loved her, you know.”

I swallowed. “No, I didn’t know.” 

“Nor did she, I suppose.” he gave a hollow laugh. “I never said the words, I thought…” he sighed. “I don’t know, you know? Probably for the best, I guess.”

“Yeah.” 

“I tried calling, but she doesn’t pick up.” 

“Nor do you.” 

“My phone died. Hers is switched off.” 

Now I wasn’t so sure of Mac’s apathy. Standing here once more brought the memories back and I remembered how pale she turned when I got the papers out, how often I’d had to prompt her to sign, and how she wouldn’t look at me as she snatched the pen from my hand to sign. Had she put a brave face on, masking her pain with anger? The indications of anguish had been there, if I’d given her any credit.

Had I chosen not to see those subtle signs of distress or had I just been blinded by my own preconceptions? 

“It’s okay, Tom, you just take care of yourself, I’ll keep your schedule clear for a week or two.”

“Thanks, Luke. You’re a good friend. You tried to warn me but I wouldn’t listen.” 

I couldn’t accept that thanks but I didn’t reveal the truth either. 

I left expecting Tom to bounce back in a few days, maybe a week or two, but Tom’s assistant, Olly, was worried and two weeks later he called me to report that Tom wasn’t improving. Apparently he was moping around the house all day, doing only what absolutely needed to be done, hardly ever exercising, and his stubble was quickly becoming a beard. 

I cajoled Tom into going out with me one night, intending to get him laid and focused on a new pretty woman, only Tom ignored the numerous pretty faces around and focused only on drinking. He almost made a scene when the bartender cut him off, demanding to be served more but I managed to smooth things over by telling him we could have a nightcap back at his place, then I manhandled him into a cab.

He passed out on the ride home so I stayed overnight, just in case he hurt himself or something and the next morning, I read him the riot act.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” I demanded as Tom joined me at the kitchen table, his eyes squinting against the morning light, wincing at my volume.

“I went for a drink with a friend, what’s so wrong with that?” 

“You got pissed and nearly started a fight with a bartender!”

Tom frowned. “I don’t remember that.” 

“I’m surprised you remember anything at all! You need to snap out of it. Mac was a gold digger and now she’s gone; move on and cut her out of your life!” 

“She wasn’t a gold digger.” he defended her.  

“Tom,” I sighed, considering telling him her words on that last day, ‘a pleasure doing business with you,’ but I wasn’t ready to tell Tom I’d brought her the cheque, because then I’d have to tell him about the divorce petition, and he clearly was in no shape.

I hadn’t dated her signature yet and when the time was right, I intended to tell Tom I’d asked Mac to petition for divorce so that she looked like the bad guy and Tom got the sympathy vote. For the moment, the documents were just sitting on my desk, waiting for Tom to get with the program. 

“You didn’t help matters!” Tom snapped at me. “You did everything you could to make her feel unwelcome and you insulted and belittled her at every turn! No wonder she couldn’t wait to get away from me, because it meant she got away from you too!”

I was shocked by the rage behind his words. Tom wasn’t the type of man to show his anger, he was practically the poster child for healthy conflict resolution. 

“Tom, you’re hurting and I get that you’re angry, but you’re taking that anger out on the wrong target.”

“Am I? Who am I supposed to blame for how you treated her?” he demanded. “You hated her and don’t even try to deny it!”

“I didn’t hate her, I only wanted what was best for you.”

“SHE WAS BEST FOR ME!” he yelled but as he began to cry, his volume tapered off. “I loved her, and it felt like she loved me. She trusted me and leaned on me and when I needed it, she was there for me. She even took all the shit my life threw at her, including you, without letting it affect her.”

Well, I disagreed with that, but now wasn’t the time to relive the trials she had endured on his behalf, I didn’t want to martyr her.

“I think I should go.”

“Yes, go, go.” He wiped his tears away with the heel of his hand. “I would not wish you back again.” 

I paused for a second, wondering if he was still drunk, or if there was something more dangerous behind that quote. 

“I’ll see you soon,” I stood up from the table. “Try and pull yourself together before filming starts.” 

When I got home, I called Tom’s business manager, who had the authority to do transactions on Tom’s behalf, and enquired about the cheque so that the next time Tom refuted that she was gold digger, I could tell him that she had demanded her divorce settlement and cashed it already. 

Except that it hadn’t been cashed. What the hell was she playing at?

I asked him to inform me the moment it was and he assured me he would. 

I was still getting google updates on Mac and I knew her book launch had been a few days ago. I tried to remember the names of her friends and family but I came up blank, so and decided to call a new friend of hers, someone who had tweeted about the launch and that I hoped might be receptive. I went through her agent and after a lot of cajoling, she gave me Emma Thompson’s number. 

She seemed unaware of the animosity between Mac and me and as such, was happy to answer my questions. 

She told me Mac looked okay but was tired, pale, and perhaps a little thinner. Emma had assumed she was unwell. My heart sank at that.

I asked her to keep her eye on Mac and let me know if she saw anything worrying. I had to give a reason, so I said that she and Tom were fighting but Mac was a very private person and probably wouldn’t tell anyone. 

Emma spoke quite highly of Mac and her work and said that spending time with her was a pleasure. If

I’m honest, it’s horrible to hear someone you respect laud someone you dislike. 

I gave her my number and she promised to call me if she noticed anything worrying.

Another two weeks passed and I was at my wits end, not knowing what to do for Tom, then he seemed to pull himself together to start rehearsals for filming. Olly reported that he had shaved, got a haircut, and was exercising again. 

It wasn’t long before Olly called again though, reporting that there were problems on set. 

Tom seemed to be drinking every night which was putting him off his game. The director had even talked about replacing him, according to Olly, and I realised that if I wanted Tom back on form, I had to do something I really wasn’t looking forward to. 

***

The shock on her face as she opened the door might have been amusing, were it not followed immediately by a look of intense loathing.

It was as Emma had told me, she looked okay but tired, with deep purple shadows showing through her under eye concealer. 

“What do you want?” she asked as she crossed her arms defensively. 

“I need to talk to you.” I thought I looked contrite. I hoped I did. I certainly felt it. 

“How did you get my address?” 

“I called your publisher’s publicist, I know her. You haven’t told anyone you’ve left Tom yet, so she thought nothing about giving it to me.”

She clearly wasn’t happy about that. “Why are you here?” 

“Do you mind if we talk inside? I really don’t think this is something your neighbours need to hear.”

She hesitated but eventually relented and led me into her living room, re-crossing her arms as she turned back.

“Why haven’t you cashed the cheque?” I found myself asking bluntly. That hadn’t been my intended opening gambit. 

“None of your business.” she snapped.

She was right, but swallowing my pride wasn’t going to be easy. I couldn’t meet her eye so I pretended to look around the room.

“Can I sit?” 

“No,” she huffed. “Please state your business and leave.”

“I… I’m here to apologise.” 

Her demeanour didn’t cool as I hoped it might. 

“You have to understand, I’ve known Tom for a long time, and he’s my friend first and foremost.”

“You have a crap way of showing it!” 

“Maybe. You’ve lived in his world now though, you can see how few strangers have altruistic motives when it comes to celebrities. Can you blame me for being cautious?”

“No. I can blame you for being a mean bastard though!” 

“It was tough love, I wanted you to see what you’d be getting into.”

“Oh, bull-fucking-shit!” she exclaimed. “Get out of my house, you lying prat.” 

“No, no, please. I need your help.” 

“There is no way in hell I’m helping you.” She moved towards the door, presumably to show me out.

“Tom needs your help then, because of something I did.”

She turned back and I met her eye. 

“I lied to you... A lie of omission, but a lie none the less”

“About what?” 

I looked away. “The divorce papers. I let you assume Tom sent me but he didn’t, I arranged that because I suspected he wouldn’t.”

Her gasp made me look up and the tears in her eyes cut me to the quick. 

“I’m sorry. I thought I was doing what was best for Tom.”

She sank into the closest chair and buried her head in her hands. I hesitated for a moment, then I sat down too, rather than standing over her. Her shoulders began to shake and I have never felt like a bigger tool.

“Why?” she suddenly demanded, keeping her head bowed by attempting to wipe her tears away.

“What did I ever do to you that made you think so poorly of me?”

“Aside from an impulse wedding to a drunk man?”

“I'm assuming your animosity that day came from being mad at Tom but since you couldn’t afford to lose his business, you took it out on me. That doesn’t explain why, a year later, you were willing to lie to get rid of me.”

“You were just too keen, too eager to buy the expensive dresses and walk the red carpet. I thought you were either a star fucker or a gold digger, both of which could seriously damage his image.”

“But I wanted to annul it. You’re the one who said it would be bad for his career.”

“Actually I didn’t. Tom pressed to stay married, I tried to convince him to annul it and we’d deal with the fallout.” 

Mac looked up at me. “So you thought I’d convinced him to stay married.”

I nodded. “I’m afraid I gave you more credit than you were due.” 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“I mean when it comes to conning people. I was wrong, you aren’t a gold digger, I genuinely think you did believe the marriage wasn’t legal, and you did want to annul it.”

“What changed your mind?” 

“You didn’t cash the settlement cheque.”

“Wait,” she held her hand up to stop me. “How the hell did you get a cheque in Tom’s name without his knowledge?” Her expression told me I’d better not try to bullshit her. 

“Tom has a financial manager with the power to make transactions in his name. He trusts me, he knew this banker’s draft would have to be raised soon so he didn’t think twice when I phoned.”

“Well, that’s a nice abuse of the trust you were given,” Mac said softly with a tired sigh. 

“What, that’s it, that’s all you have to say?” I asked, askance at her lacklustre reply. 

“What did you want me to say?” she asked. “I know you’ve been asking Emma about me so I'm sure you’ve kept Tom updated on my progress. You turned up on my doorstep so I’m obviously not that hard to find. He might not have asked you to give me those papers, but he obviously doesn’t object to them. It changes nothing.” She wiped silent tears away. “Congratulations, you’ve won. Did you just come to rub it in?” she asked bitterly.

“I haven’t told him,” I admitted. I don’t think I have ever been more ashamed of myself than I was at that moment. “And he did try calling you for two days, but your phone was off. Combined with the letter you left, which made it seem like you were the one leaving him, he took the hint and left you alone.”

“You haven’t told him?” she said softly. 

“No.” 

“You haven’t told him!” her voice was stronger now. 

“No.” My words were getting softer, sensing danger. 

“YOU HAVEN’T TOLD HIM!! What kind of monster are you? You meddle, manipulate, lie, cheat, steal his money to pay me off, and for what? Are you some kind of sociopath who enjoys making others dance to their tune and causing pain?”

“No! No, I…” I could certainly see how nothing I had done showed me in a good light. “When I saw how hurt he was, I couldn’t tell him. I meant to, but… I just assumed he would be pleased.” 

Her anger cleared and I saw compassion on her features, but I knew it wasn’t for me. 

“What did you do to him?” she asked, her voice quaking with barely suppressed rage which made me flinch. 

“He’s a mess,” I admitted. “I thought he’d get over it but he hasn’t. He’s drinking too much, showing up for work hungover, not giving it his best.”

She wiped her tears away. 

“He really does love you, he told me as much. And he said that on your anniversary he… he was going to ask you to remarry him.” 

The look she gave me was one of pure loathing. “Where is he?” 

“At the studio. Pinewood. I can give you a lift if you want.” 

“I want nothing from you, except those papers you had me sign. You get them and you deliver them to Tom’s home by the end of the day, understood?”

I nodded and got to my feet. 

“I realise you probably won’t believe me, but I am sorry for the harm I’ve caused.”

She nodded but didn’t accept my apology. 

“If you take him back, I can promise that I won’t interfere in your relationship any more.” 

“Yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock. Now bugger off so I can try to repair some of the damage you’ve done!” 

I left, hoping that meant she was on her way to the studio. I called ahead and made sure she would be allowed in. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Tom Hiddleston POV

I was on the brink of earning myself a bad reputation and I knew it, but then I’d never felt pain like this before. 

I’ve had breakups and my heart has been broken, but they paled in comparison to this fresh pain. I simply didn’t know how to cope with it. 

Besides, I was tired of being treated like a trained monkey and expected to perform perfectly. Sometimes I just wanted to be left alone to be me, to not be on show, to not have to be polite and engaging, to just be like I was with Mac. 

Mac. She was the reason for this pain. 

Our wedding had come out of a joke. I’d been explaining to her how rarely I was able to cut loose these days; I didn’t want to do anything too crazy but recently my life had become all about obligations. For about three months I’d been doing press for three movies that almost coincided on their release dates, so I was flying all over the damn world to recite the same sentiments to hundreds of different reporters, chat show hosts and journalists, in the hopes they each had a sound bite that they could use to generate interest. 

I understood the reason for these junkets, especially as two of the movies were small independent films that needed as much publicity as possible, but that didn’t stop them from being any less tedious and with the travel involved, very taxing. 

That was not why I became an actor. 

I also had a reputation to uphold so things which might have eased the tedium, such as a risqué joke, couldn’t be said with so many strangers about. I constantly had to be careful that something uttered in jest didn’t become fodder for the tabloids. 

It’s all very well to travel on a whirlwind tour of the world, but when all you see is your hotel room, a windowless meeting room where you sit in front of movie backdrops and see an endless procession of journalists, and then when you are able to see the outside world, it’s only to visit the cinemas where the premiere of your film was being screened, travel begins to lose its lustre.

Telling the same stories over and over, I felt as though I was becoming boring. Certainly it felt boring, and over dinner that first evening, I had confessed those feelings to Mac. I hadn’t told her I was an actor, just that I travelled a lot with my work.

Mac has a huge playful side to her that is impossible to miss and even on that first day, when she’d been weighed down with grief, her humour shone through.

“Well you are in Vegas,” she had teased me. “Get married and no one will ever call you boring again!”

I’d laughed but the idea had stayed with me. A bottle of champagne, three whiskeys and a bottle of wine later, it seemed like a brilliant idea. 

Mac was a little harder to convince but I was pretty sure it wasn’t legal, and I told her about all the hoops a friend of mine had to jump through to make his beach wedding in Mauritius was legal in the UK. 

In my defence, I was very drunk at the time and being unsure of the legalities of foreign weddings didn’t seem particularly important. 

I felt like a fool the next morning but I was determined to salvage something from my drunken idiocy, and I knew I liked Mac. I quickly grew to admire her as well, and somewhere along the way, I fell in love. I even turned down a few projects that would have taken me away from London for too long. She wasn’t the only reason I turned them down, but she was a big part of it. 

Never before had I put someone before my work. Not even myself.

I thought she cared about me too, I would have staked my life on it in fact, which I think is why her leaving was such a shock. If I knew why she left, because we’d been fighting, because we’d fallen out of love, because we were never in love, then I think it would be easier to live with. 

As it stands, one day I was preparing to ask her to marry me again, the next day she was gone. How does one deal with such a change in circumstances? Apparently one gets drunk. Frequently.

I wanted to be angry with her but I couldn’t, for a few reasons. 

First of all, because she was keeping to the contract I’d asked for. I should have made it five years or something. 

Secondly, I hadn’t told her how I felt. I have issues with those words, they’ve been said to me by someone who broke my heart and I’ve often said them as part of my work, so I prefer to show my feelings. Talk is cheap, after all. That’s why I had thought Mac loved me, not because she said the words but because she showed me that she did each time she looked at me. 

Now I realised that perhaps not everyone was like me, perhaps those words were important to them. To her.. I should have told her.

Finally, living my life had been hell for her. Between Luke, the media, the gossip, the hate mail, the stalker, who could blame her for wanting out? 

I just didn’t understand why she left so suddenly. Had she been planning to leave and just waited until I was away? Did something happen while I was away? Did the stalker frighten her? 

As far as I could tell, nothing untoward occurred in my absence, so what happened to make her pack her bags and steal away like a thief in the night? 

It was taking its toll on me. I wasn’t sleeping well, I was drinking more as it eased the pain for a while, and I was unfocused. 

It wasn’t that I was trying to be bad at my job, but the lethargy and my distraction combined to make me fluff my lines far more often than usual, and I admit I had lost my temper once or twice. Luckily I’m not prone to yell and rant, but patience is an absolute necessity on a film set. I seem to have lost mine along with my heart.

I could tell the crew were becoming impatient with me, and my inability to relax into my characters had led to me drinking at lunch sometimes, just a little. It hadn’t helped my acting but it had dulled the pain. 

I knew I was a mess, I just didn’t know how to stop being a mess. 

I tried. Sometimes I forced myself to go through the motions of being a healthy, happy person but I was so tired that it took every scrap of willpower I possessed and it didn’t help. The pain I felt was almost physical, and always there, always aching, always reminding me of what I’d lost. 

I wanted to call Mac every hour of every day but she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to hear from me, and I owed it to her to respect her wishes. She’d given up a year of her life for me, after all. 

I also considered attending her book launch, maybe watching from behind a bookcase, but I knew I’d never get away with that. 

So where did that leave me? 

It left me being responsible for us finishing three hours early on a Friday, not that anyone really wanted to work late, then I was pulled aside by the director and told to come back on Monday with whatever issues I was having sorted out, or there would be trouble.

I apologised because I knew my unprofessional behaviour was my fault, and I headed home. The film pays drivers to collect us and take us home, so I looked out of the windows a we drove and considered my problem.

Honestly, the only way I knew to sort my issue, was to get Mac back. I know she didn’t want to talk to me, but it wouldn’t hurt to call once more, would it? And if she declined the call, I could text or email her. 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so they say. 

Then again, what if she turned me down? I couldn’t stand another rejection and it certainly wouldn’t help matters. 

But didn’t I owe it to myself to try? They say that nothing worth having in life comes easy and Mac had pretty much just fallen into my lap, so maybe it was time I worked to get her back. It didn’t have to be just one phone call, I could write to her through her agent, properly explaining how I felt, and I could continue writing until she changed her mind, or gave me a reason for our break up that made sense.

I think that was the hardest thing, that I didn’t know why.

I thanked my driver and headed inside but the moment my door opened, my heart skipped a beat. I wondered for a second if I had gone mad, because scents like this hadn’t filled my home since Mac lived here, but then she appeared from the kitchen, a hesitant smile on her face. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting-”

“No, I hope it’s all right-”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

I wasn’t even sure what we were discussing. 

She approached me with caution and seemed pained as she kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, the scents of her shampoo and perfume filled my senses and soothed me. 

“How are you?” she asked with such genuine interest as she pulled away. 

“I’m fine,” I dismissed her query. 

“You’ve lost weight,” she noted. 

“Hard not to without your cakes around.” 

She visibly flinched but I hadn’t mean to hurt her… much. 

It gave me a perverse pleasure to see that she too looked tired, but I was glad she hadn’t lost too much weight, I knew that was when I really needed to worry about her. 

“I’m sorry for the way I left, Tom,” she explained. “Please, come through to the kitchen and we can talk properly.” 

I nodded and followed her, looking to the pots on the stove with curiosity while she made tea. Such a normal activity making tea. 

“I cooked,” she explained. “I hoped we could have dinner together.”

I nodded but didn’t reply. Why had she come? 

My heart sank as I considered the possibility that she was here to ask for a divorce. 

“Are you hungry now? It won’t take long to-”

“Why are you here?” I interrupted her. I couldn’t take not knowing any longer. 

“I’m here because I was misled, and I made a horrible mistake as a result.” She began to cry softly and had to swallow before she could continue speaking. “Luke came to see me while you were away, with divorce papers. He didn’t say you’d sent him, but I assumed and I was so hurt, I didn’t stop to question it.”

“You mean you didn’t want to leave me?” tears pricked my eyes as I dared to hope. 

“No.” She shook her head. “It broke my heart, but we never talked about it and the year was up and-”

I cut her off as I pulled her into my arms and held her, probably too tightly, my nose buried in her hair. She held me tightly too and we both began to cry but it felt good, as if each tear lightened the load we had been carrying a little.

I knew I hadn’t heard the full story but there was time for that. 

“I love you,” I told her, before I forgot. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.” 

“I love you too,” She looked at me with tears running down her face and I could not doubt it.

We held each other for a long time and when we pulled away, other hungers awakened. 

I looked down at her and smiled. The relief I felt was immense; she did want me, this whole thing had been a misunderstanding. I didn’t know the details but I knew she wasn’t lying. 

She leaned forward and kissed me, which broke the flood gates on my desire and I kissed her passionately, even roughly. In my defence, I had been without her for over six weeks and she seemed to match my need, acting just as aggressively towards me. 

Neither of us could wait so after she undid my jeans, I lifted her up on to the kitchen table, raised her skirt as I stepped between her legs, and pulled her panties aside while she guided my length to her sheath. I entered in one thrust then paused for a moment, overcome by sensation. This wasn’t just great sex, this was like coming home. I think Mac felt the same as she held still for a moment too, her ankles crossed over my bum, holding me in place, and her arms held me in a vice like grip, as mine were to her. 

I began kissing her neck and she kicked my buttocks with her heels, spurring me into action and I began thrusting inside her. 

We didn’t last long, we were too worked up but despite it hardly lasting longer than a minute or two, we were both panting hard. 

“I missed you,” I told her. 

“I missed this,” she replied, a sly smile on her lips. 

“You only want me for my body,” I pouted. 

“Not true, your fortune is a big part of your appeal too.”

I laughed, pleased we had so easily fallen into our old playful ways. 

“You okay?” I asked seriously. “I didn’t mean to basically attack you.” 

“Oh no, that’s fine,” she said with a giggle. “Besides, I think we both sort of met each other mid-attack.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. 

“And since you’re still inside me, I think it’s safe to assume I’m fine with it.” 

She clenched her inner muscles, squeezing my softening length and initiating a fresh surge of blood to the oversensitive organ. I groaned and pulled out before I could become engorged again. After such a drought I wouldn’t take me long to recover, but I would need at least fifteen minutes. 

Mac pouted for a second but as I fixed my jeans, she jumped off the table and sorted her own clothing. 

“So,” she said. “You probably want the whole story.”

I was still rather confused so I nodded. “Shall we sit?” 

We sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling awkward. 

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she assured me. “That’s why I never brought the divorce up, I was afraid of hearing that you still wanted it. When Luke turned up with the papers, I thought you’d asked him to handle an awkward task on your behalf.” 

“You believed him?” I asked, wondering how she couldn’t at least suspect how I felt about her. There was hurt in my voice and yes, a little anger. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked. “We still had separate bedrooms.”

Wait. “We did?” 

“All my stuff was over the hall, all my toiletries were in the main bathroom, not your en suite, and when you weren’t here, I felt like an intruder in your bed. I still slept there because the sheets had your scent, but there’s nothing of mine in the room.”

“I just assumed you liked the larger bathroom and, I don’t know, used the bedroom as a dressing room. You had more room in there, and we still have 2 more spare bedrooms.”

“We’re getting off point,” she shook her head, as though to clear to. “When he came in here with a bankers draft from your account and completed divorce papers, I just froze. It was like my worst nightmare. I didn’t know what to think and after he told me to sign a couple of times, I did.”

“But the letter you left was so cold.”

“I thought you wanted me gone, and we agreed to a year so I didn’t want you to feel badly because I’d fallen in love and you hadn’t. So I tried to keep it cool and upbeat.”

“You couldn’t wait and speak to me?” 

“I couldn’t.” She shook her head her eyes shining with tears at the thought. “I couldn’t stay here, Tom, somewhere I had such happy memories, it was like a cruel taunt of what might have been, and I was barely keeping it together on my own, I knew that if I saw you, I’d lose it, and you didn’t deserve that.” 

I could understand how she felt. 

“You could have tried harder to contact me, you know.” There was a touch of accusation in her voice. 

“I did call but between your letter and turning your phone off, I thought you didn’t want to hear from me. I was trying to respect your wishes. I guess we were both in the same boat, trying to give the other what we thought they wanted. I think there’s a lesson to be learned here.” 

“Yeah, never trust anything Luke says,” she said wryly.

I smiled. “I was actually thinking more along the lines of communicating. If we’d both been more open, Luke wouldn’t have had a chance to come between us.” 

She nodded. “It’s hard to be open when you risk getting your heart broken.” 

I had to agree with that sentiment. “Well let me assure you, once and for all, I will never break your heart. I love you more deeply than I have ever loved anyone before, you’re everything I could have dreamed of.”

She burst into tears but her smile assured me they were the good kind. Seemingly unable to talk, she came around the table and I pulled her onto my lap, wiping her tears and yes, shedding a few of my own. 

Once she was able to talk, she cupped my face in her hands, “I’ll never hurt you either,” she assured me before kissing me softly. 

“What happened to the divorce papers?” I asked. 

“I told Luke to drop them off here, they were waiting when I arrived.”

“Fancy having a bonfire?” I teased. 

“I don’t think your garden is big enough for that.” 

“Our garden,” I corrected. “How about we just throw them in the sink with a little lighter fluid?”  “Perfect.” 

She fetched the large manila envelope that Luke had left, while I hunted for the lighter fluid and extra-long matches that I bought for the barbecue I hardly ever got a chance use. She removed the contents and placed the envelope in the bottom and the documents on top. I guess she really wanted to be sure they all burned. I doused them in the fluid, then struck a match and tossed it into the stainless steel sink, before putting my arm around her shoulders while we watched then go up in flames. 

What we had failed to account for though was the smoke and seconds later, the kitchen smoke alarm began screaming. 

Mac darted forward and turned the taps on to douse the fire, then opened the window over the sink, while I ran to the back door and began swinging it open and closed, hoping to create a draft and disperse the smoke as quickly as possible. Mac aided the my efforts by flapping a tea towel around close to the fire alarm and finally, blissfully, it was silenced. 

I left the back door open for a while and we both approached the sink, my arm naturally finding its home around her shoulders as hers found its way around my waist.

We stared into the paper, ash and mush remains. 

“Well,” Mac began, trying not to laugh. “That didn’t quite go as planned.” 

I was equally amused. “No, not our best idea.” 

“Well, I think it proves that we should clearly never ever have anything to do with any divorce papers.” 

“I quite agree. In fact, I think the word should be banned all together.” 

“From the house or from our vocabulary entirely” she played along. 

“Well I may have to utter the word for a script...” 

“True. So we make it the Macbeth of our home, never uttered within doors.” 

“Deal.” 

We finally made eye contact and both gave into the giggles. It felt good to laugh, my life had felt rather bleak for weeks now. It felt even better to have Mac back in my arms where she belonged.

“We should clean this up,” I said, making some attempt to contain my mirth. 

“We should,” she agreed, chuckling as she pulled the bin over, while I scooped the mess from the sink. 

“We should have shredded them before burning,” I lamented. 

Mac pulled some of the sheets out of the bin, peeling them from the rest. 

“Between the lighter fluid, the flame and the water, I don’t think there’s anything legible here,” she laughed..

Oh well, at least we wouldn’t have to worry about the tabloids finding anything if they went through my rubbish. 

“Are you sure you want this life?” I asked her as the weight of the burdens my life put on us became apparent. She not only had to shred any paper, she had gossip rags writing about her, photographers following her, strangers posting about her on social media, not to mention that she had her very own stalker. 

“See, in some ways, I think this break up, unnecessary as it was, might be a good thing.” 

“How so?” I frowned. 

“Because I’ve lived with you and the complications your life brings, and I’ve lived without you. The latter is infinitely worse.” 

“Good,” I sounded as relieved as I felt, “because my life is inordinately better with you in it.”

She wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder. 

“You getting hungry?” she asked. “I think I need to fatten you up.”

“I could eat,” I replied, smiling. “But I think we should talk about what to do with Luke.”

“Not today,” she said, pulling away until she could look into my eyes. “The only thing I will say about him is that in his own fucked up way, I actually think he was trying to look out for you.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t be mad at him?”

“No, I’m saying don’t be rash and make a decision in anger. Besides, this weekend is reserved for us only; talking, watching movies, cooking naked, li’l bit of kissing, whole lot of sex, all that good stuff and as your wife, I forbid you to do any of that with Luke. Monday is soon enough for that.” 

“I do have some scenes to learn.” 

“I’ll help you,” she smiled. “Please tell me it’s a sex scene!” 

“Sadly not.” I laughed. “When are we moving you back in?” 

“I’ll bring  my stuff back on Monday.”

“Won’t you need anything between now and then?” 

Mac shrugged. “I’m not exactly planning on staying dressed much, and I’m sure I can borrow your stuff for two days. Plus I have a credit card and an Amazon Prime account, and I’m not afraid to use them. ” 

“Your welcome to my clothes, of course, but I don’t think my boxers will fit. Different physiology, you know.”

“I’m aware. I did bring one change of underwear,” she confessed, coquettishly looking at me through her lashes. “I figured a set of the Victoria’s Secret underwear might even help my case...” 

Blood was swiftly flowing back to my cock and my breathing was growing shallow. 

“The dinner will keep, right?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

“Oh yeah, all night long if we want.” 

“Good.” I swept her into my arms in a bridal carry and as quickly as my legs could carry me, escorted her to the bedroom. 


	15. Chapter 15

Epilogue

Mackenzie Kingsman-Hiddleston

Four Years Later

On our fifth anniversary we decided to renew our vows, which is how we found ourselves on honeymoon, since we didn’t get one the first time. Four weeks in a private villa on North Island in the Seychelles. The whole island was totally private, so one of the few places in the world that we didn’t have to worry about photographers. 

On the whole, the press are a lot nicer to me these days but we still sell newspapers and bring website visits, so the paparazzi still follow us sometimes, then make up a story to go with the pictures. They’re not as invasive as they were when we first married but it’s enough to be annoying. 

That would probably change very soon however, when baby Oscar arrives. We called him that because I have a sneaking suspicion he was conceived on Oscar night so after joking about it, we just called the baby Oscar now. We didn’t know if it was boy or girl, but we weren’t going to name it Oscar either way. If it was a boy, we didn’t want him thinking he was named after his father’s awards, we wanted him to make his own accomplishments and if it was a girl, then Oscar was just not appropriate unless we wanted her to be teased incessantly.

I was partial to Alexander or Alexandra to be honest. Tom liked Elizabeth for a girl but he was undecided on boy’s names. We continued to discuss it and change our minds; last month I’d been tempted by Charles or Charlotte, then I had a very brief dalliance with Thomas Jr, before switching to Alex. 

At five months I had a noticeable baby bump in my bikini, but I had been dressing well and the press hadn’t noticed anything yet. Sometimes being plump and having a fluctuating weight can go in my favour, not to mention that since everyone cried ‘baby!’ and ‘shotgun wedding!’ in the beginning, the possibility of my being pregnant had already been done to death by the tabloids.

Our villa here was the height of luxury and for some reason, filled with beds. The bedroom was large and the main bed was a four poster with a canopy and net curtain tie backs and, oh look, there’s another bed in here, just in case you get tired and can't make it to the other bed in time. The living room was large and cool, with plush sofas and chairs, two different dining tables and, oh look, here’s a bed in case you get tired. The terraces have sun loungers, chairs and tables and, oh look, here’s a bed with a nice shady canopy, just in case you get tired. I mean, even the frigging bathroom has a bed in it! 

I had to admit, with the pregnancy making me a little more tired than usual, all the beds were very welcome, meaning I could grab a quick nap and still be near Tom while he swam or read or something, but even I thought that having one in the bathroom was overkill. 

If we’re being brutally honest, the beds had another use too, a rather more carnal one. The pregnancy had kicked my hormones into overdrive and I need to come at least twice a day, or someone’s going to get hurt. Just about the only bed that hadn’t seen some action, was the bathroom bed, primarily because the massive tub was a far more attractive proposition. 

The villa also had a large projection screen set up so we could watch movies, and the bed in the living room came in very handy then. We’d both heard of cinemas that had beds rather that seats, and we vowed to look them up once we got home and try them out when we got a chance. Though possibly not as thoroughly!

We did a lot more than just shag and watch films though. Taking advantage of the activities on the island, we’d been diving, cycling, hiking, on excursions to another island, and we’d tried surfing again. It had been a long while since we surfed in Australia but it soon came back.

There was fine dining available, and a more relaxed beach front restaurant, we could eat in our villa, or anywhere on the island, as long as we gave them a little notice first.

I had one small glass of wine or champagne occasionally, about once a week, but never more and I was a little put out that I couldn’t drink. Tom really went above and beyond, and he gave up drinking around me. I didn’t ask him to, it didn’t seem fair that we should both be deprived but he insisted. 

He drank when we weren’t together, if he was away with work or just on a night out without me and I didn’t mind at all. In fact I appreciated that he tried not to add to my temptation. It’s strange, I’m not a big drinker or a regular one but now I couldn’t drink, boy, did I miss it! The baby was worth it though. 

Mostly Tom and I just relaxed, sometimes in the villa, or on the private beach attached, or taking advantage of the spa facilities

It had been a busy few years for the both is us. Tom had been making at least two films a year, while I now had five books in the thriller series, three historical novels, and I had written the screen plays for a six part adaptation of my Eleanor of Aquitaine novel, as well as the thriller movie that Tom bought the rights to. 

The movie came out a few months ago and was being hailed as the new Mission Impossible. Tom had acted as executive producer and by also starring, he had been able to get the financing. 

Adapting my books for the screen was actually really enjoyable because I got to be a part of the movie making process, which means I met with a lot of people to discuss various elements of the story and script. 

As much as I enjoy writing novels and having total control over a story, it’s a lonely profession for an extrovert like me.

Thanks to the TV series and movie, my sales went through the roof and I can now call myself a minor celebrity in my own right. Of course, I’m still recognised more often for being Tom’s wife than for my own work, but c’est la vie.

You’ll be pleased to hear that Tom eventually won his Oscar, earlier this year in fact, for his portrayal of a spy during the Cold War. 

We keep it on a shelf in the bathroom. 

I know what you’re thinking, considering all the trouble he went to in staying married to me just so he had a chance to win, why disrespect the award by putting it in the loo, and the short answer is, we’re not disrespecting it, we’re sharing it. 

What other room in a house has a lockable door and a huge mirror in which to practice your acceptance speech? Besides, Tom had still had it in his hand when we got home from the after party and he followed me into the bathroom. I’d lay odds that baby Oscar had been conceived then and there, in fact!

We knew people took advantage of our set up, both because they spent too long in there, and because the statue sometimes moved.

At times we joked about putting a camera behind the mirror so we could see their speeches, but we’d never be that mean. Probably.

In our third week on the island, Tom got an email from Luke. 

Yes, Tom is still his client. For all his faults, Luke is an excellent publicist and ever since that whole

D-word debacle, he’s always treats me with the utmost curtesy. After the success of my books and

Tom’s movie based on one of them, I’d even go so far as to say he respects me. 

His firm also represents me for non-book related things, such as our marriage and my screenwriting ventures. They don’t do an awful lot of work on my behalf but he does his job efficiently. I would go so far as to say that he even goes the extra mile for me, probably out of guilt. 

His firm tracks everything to do with my stalker for example, and despite the restraining order, then her being taken to court for leaving malicious notes on our car and attempting to break into our house, he’d managed to keep the story out of the press for a year. I knew he couldn’t manage forever but I thought a year of grace was pretty good. 

I’ve forgiven him his actions four years ago. I haven’t forgotten, and I never will, but I don’t hold it against him any more. 

Tom and I had agreed on no phones when we got here. We’d both been working very hard over the last year, but especially the last 5 months. I’d got ahead on my writing obligations and Tom had completed three films in the last 13 months, as well as doing publicity. He also had another film lined up for when we returned. 

Our hope was that, aside from professional obligations such as publicity for his movies and my book releases, we could both take at least a year off with our baby. 

We didn’t intend to do nothing at all but parent for 12 months, we planned hire a nanny to help for a few hours each day, so that we still had time for each other, and Tom had let his agent know he might be interested in voice work, which was literally just one to five days working 10-4 in a studio, as opposed to months away on a film set. 

I hoped to start writing a memorial to my mother. I wasn’t sure I’d ever publish the book, I was still undecided about that, but I was far enough removed from her loss that I could think of her without that crippling sadness, and I wanted little Oscar to know what their grandmother had been like. 

Our heavy workloads had left us both so tired though, that we had agreed that this second honeymoon would be a total break, so no phones. We weren’t totally incommunicado however; since we both had professional obligations, we had told everyone that we would check our emails at least once a day and get back to them if it was urgent. 

I was reclining on the nice shaded bed out on the terrace (because while the Seychelles sun is lovely, it’s a little too hot to sit in for long) when Tom climbed onto the opposite side of the bed. As I finished my paragraph I glanced up to see he looked concerned, and I put the book down. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Email from Luke,” he explained. 

“Don’t tell me, this is my favourite game… You’re cheating on me again, this time with…” I tried to think of someone they hadn’t paired him with yet. “Madonna.”

“No, and definitely not,” he smiled. 

“Am I cheating on you with Will Smith again?” Ever since Tom had related my accidental bum grab

(it wasn’t even a grab!) anecdote in an interview two years, rumours of an affair had persisted. 

“Well no, because then I’d be in a jealous rage, wouldn’t I?”

“So am I having heart problems again from being such an average sized person?” 

“Not this time.” 

“Are we fighting again?” 

“No,” he shook his head but as he opened his mouth to tell me, I held my hand up to stop him.

“They have pictures of me leaving the gym looking like a homeless person?”

“Wrong.”

“I’ve had bariatric surgery?”

“Nope.”

“We’re breaking up?”

“No.”

“Okay… is one of us on drugs?” 

“Uh uh.” 

“Am I your beard?” 

“‘Fraid not.”

“Do you secretly write my books?”

“No.”

I was running out of ideas. “Did you… eat Freddie Starr’s hamster?”

“Certainly not!” He was trying his best not to laugh but not being particularly successful. 

“My pregnancy’s fake?”

“Ah, well…”

“They found out?” I guessed. 

“They’ve got pictures of us taken from the sea, using a very long lens.” 

He handed me three pages he’d printed out and I read Luke’s email before moving onto the five pictures below. 

“They know about the baby,” he told me.

How could they not guess? The pictures were fuzzy but my belly was definitely rounded and if they were in any doubt about it being a baby or belly fat, the pictures of Tom with is hands resting on the bump, then in another pressing a kiss to it, seemed to seal the deal. 

Given that it was only a few months since Tom won his Oscar, I should have guessed that they’d follow us here. 

“Are you okay?” Tom asked.

I looked up and shrugged. “We knew it would happen eventually.” 

“You’re not upset?” 

“Everyone who matters already knows, so no. I'd be hopping mad if they broke the news before we’d had a chance to tell our families but they didn’t, so…” I handed him the pages back. “Just tell him to release the statement we left.”

“And what about them spying on us?” 

I shrugged again and sidled closer. “Kiss me.” 

“What if someone’s watching?” 

“Then they’ll get a show.”

He looked hesitant so I crawled around the bed and undid the ties on two sides facing the sea, letting the (mostly decorative) net curtains loose. 

“Now kiss me,” I demanded, crawling up the length of his body, dragging my breasts and tummy over his crotch. 

He groaned in defeat and as my head aligned with his, he reached up to kiss me. I moved away, teasing him, and his eyes narrowed. 

“So it’s like that, is it?” 

I just smiled. 

Before I knew it, I was the one on my back and Tom was hovering over me. 

“Now you must pay for teasing me,” he growled, then I screeched as he began tickling me. 

I tried pulling his hand away but I was never strong enough, so I eventually gave up, yelling “I’m sorry,” in between giggles. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“I am, I'm sorry, I’m sorry!”

He relented and as soon as my laughter stopped, I pulled his head down for a kiss, knowing that distraction was the best way to ensure he didn’t start again.

Tom seemed just as turned on by my pregnancy as the hormones were making me, so he didn’t need much convincing and when I snaked a hand between us, I found that his length was making a very definite bulge in his shorts. I pushed them down and gripped his length. 

Tom began kissing my neck, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin there. Soft and gentle didn’t often cut it for me these days. 

Tom began pushing on my bikini bottoms with one hand and after some awkward shifting, they hung from one ankle and I positioned Tom at my entrance. He slid home in one thrust. 

He held his weight on his arms because my bump was just starting to get in the way, but his thrusts weren’t deep enough to scratch my itch. Since I couldn’t kiss him at this angle and all I could really hold of him was his arms, I didn’t see the need to put up with a substandard penetration. I could go on top but instead I choose, “From behind.”

He pulled out and waited for me to turn onto all fours, then he slid home once again. This was more like it! I laid my head on the cushion to give him a better angle, and he slipped his hand around me, finding my sensitive clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. 

“Oh God!” I cried. The man must have sold his soul to the devil for this kind of prowess!

My cries became steadily more inflamed but once he had me nearing my peak, he wouldn’t let me come. This was our second round today and it wasn’t even noon yet, so I could understand why he was flagging a little, but did I deserve to wait just because he had come too often recently? 

Seemed like the height of unfairness to me. 

“Please, Tom,” I begged. “Make me come!”

He leaned over me to he could croon in my ear. “Patience is a virtue, darling.” 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to piss off a pregnant woman?” I demanded in between pants. 

“You love it,” he purred. 

The bastard was right, I did love it because I knew that when I came, my climax would be just that bit more powerful.

His thrusts were getting faster though, so I knew my torture would soon be over. 

“Please.” Apparently not soon enough.

Then finally, thankfully, he dragged his thumb over my clit just that little bit harder and pushed me over the edge. My orgasm ripped through me in waves, making me claw at the mattress while my pussy clamped down on Tom’s shaft. He managed a final few thrusts, then he thrust as deeply as he could and came. 

We stayed in the same position, catching our breaths for a few moments, Tom’s chest to my back as he wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing me softly between my shoulder blades, his hands crossed over on my tummy, holding my baby bulge. 

He sighed in contentment and I followed suit, then we both sort of fell sideways so he was spooning me. It was a little too warm for that really but I wasn’t about to tell him to stop. 

I felt perfectly languid and boneless as we lay there and if I wasn’t careful, I would drift off to sleep, then be awake half the night. I was already having to get up most nights with a full bladder and I didn’t want anything else disturbing my sleep, so with extreme reluctance I sat up, righted my bikini top, then hunted for the bottoms. Tom propped his head up on his hand and watched me. 

“Do you want a drink?” I asked, stealing a quick kiss before I got up off the bed. 

“Uh, some water, please?” 

“Sure thing,” I smiled and headed into the villa. I stopped as I was facing the door with my back to the ocean, I lowered my bikini bottom to the bottom of my cheeks then raised both middle fingers over my shoulders. 

Print that, fuckers! 

Tom burst out laughing and I pulled my briefs up and winked at him before heading inside. 

I didn’t know if anyone was out there, probably best for all concerned if they weren’t but part of me really hoped they’d seen my full moon. Imagining the new grey hairs I’d given Luke didn’t hurt either!

THE END

* * *

 **AN:** I hope you’ve enjoyed this story and if so, I would ask you to show your appreciation by doing one of the following. 

Accidentally Married is now available to purchase (Tom is now called Hal Sharpe) so-

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